Vasa Jijri (Under the Skin)
by The Black Sluggard
Summary: The father he had never met had left him with a Breton name. Growing up in Dawnstar, his mother's people had bestowed the ignoble kenning of "Honeymilk". But his mother's friend, the caravan leader Ri'yaan, had always called him ahzi' ja'ahn—"my boy"—and when he was young, it was this name he had loved best. (Focuses on OCs and minor NPCs. See notes for further information.)
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note****: **The Dragonborn does not appear in this story, nor does it have anything to do with the main quest._

_Also, I know that "Kevin" is a really weird name for the Elder Scrolls 'verse. I originally set out to write a fusion fic with the TV series Castle, and this story grew out of trying to conceive a background for one of that show's characters. Other than that detail, this fic is rooted pretty firmly in Tamriel, so you don't need to know anything about Castle to understand this story. I kept the name because I do plan to finish that story someday, though by now the character is practically unrecognizable..._

_Finally, I use a reconstruction of Ta'agra (the Khajiit language), which is based primarily on canon and near-canon sources. Two exceptions to this are the words "vasa" and "jijri" (used in the title) which are neither, nor do they belong to me. They appear among a list of Ta'agra vocabulary that can be found in several Elder Scrolls places online, which mixes fanon words with those from canon sources. This makes it difficult to know where they originally came from, but they were likely created by a fan-mod or RP community somewhere._

_More notes at the end.  
_

* * *

**_Dawnstar_**  
**_Last Seed 24, 4E179_**

Kevin all but held his breath as he tried not to move. He could hear Fruki's movements through the trees as she came looking for him. He could tell that she was getting frustrated, and he smiled to himself—he was confident that she could search all day and never find him. But Kevin's perfect hiding place was soon ruined when he happened to see movement coming up the road approaching Dawnstar, and as recognition struck him he betrayed himself with a noise of excitement.

Of course, with this new development, Kevin lost interest in their game entirely.

Careful of the snow still slicking the branches, Kevin dropped from his perch in the tall fir tree to another branch below him, and from there to the next until he could safely reach the ground. His feet crunched noisily in the stubborn late-summer snows that still huddled thick in the shade beneath the trees. He heard Fruki's sound of surprise behind him but didn't turn around, setting off down the road at a run with all the speed he could muster.

The Khajiit were already unpacking their tents by the time they came into view. As he drew closer, Kevin spotted a familiar figure. Grinning, he tried to run just a little faster. Ri'yaan saw his approach before long, and the darkly-striped grey Khajiit dropped what he was doing and threw his arms wide to receive the boy that came barreling into his embrace. Ri'yaan swung Kevin around once before setting him back to the earth, and leaning back to stretch his spine let out a dramatic groan.

"How big you are getting, _ahzi' ja'ahn_," Ri'yaan said, ruffling Kevin's hair with a clawed hand. "Shooting up like sugar grasses. Soon you will be taller than old Ri'yaan."

Kevin felt his cheeks grow warm.

An early spurt of growth last fall had granted Kevin a good few inches on most of the children close to his age—even a few of the older girls who were coming into their height as well. Unfortunately, rather than the solid height of most Nord men, there was a reediness to him which his mother had said bespoke his father's people, who were much slighter. If that influence held true, she had warned, he had an adolescence full of gangling limbs to look forward to, and though he might come to his full height earlier than his peers, the odds were that his final size would never match theirs.

Yet Kevin knew Ri'yaan had meant it as a compliment, and did his best to hide the embarrassment he felt from it. The other members of Ri'yaan's caravan had begun the task of clearing a space in the which they could erect their tents, and Kevin knew that Ri'yaan would have his share of work to do before the Khajiit had time to spare for him.

"If I help, can you tell me a story?" Kevin asked hopefully.

Ri'yaan's lips drew back from his sharp teeth, jaws parting in what, for a Khajiit, was an eager smile.

"Bring us some wood, _ahzi' ja'ahn_, and start our fire for tonight and you shall have one."

Smiling, Kevin ran off obediently to complete his task.

Kevin was careful not to stray far. The woods surrounding Dawnstar, like all of Skyrim, were a dangerous place, and no child went far on their own for fear of winding up a meal to wolves, or the sabrecats, or to the giant frostbite spiders that called the forest home. It was cold, tiring work digging for fallen branches and broken logs beneath the snow, but Kevin did it eagerly. By the time he had a good tall pile of it waiting back at the camp, Ri'yaan had pulled out some metal pots to fill with snow to melt for water for the horses.

The cold, wet wood he had gathered was too difficult to ignite by normal means, and so Kevin allowed himself the use of a spell. Kevin closed his hand into a fist, concentrating carefully as he drew upon the energy inside him—what sorcerers and wizards called magicka, the power that existed inside all living things. In his mind Kevin pictured fire and thought of its heat, just as he had been taught, and felt the power grow warm in the palm of his hand. Finally he opened his fingers, releasing the energy he had gathered. Light became _heat_, and a bright spark jumped from his hand into the pile of frozen kindling. Kneeling in the snow, Kevin leaned forward to blow on the smoldering twigs until they began to smoke promisingly.

Sitting back on his heels to care for the growing fire, Kevin took a deep breath as he waited for the drained feeling that came from using magic to leave him.

Madena, the court mage to the Jarl of Dawnstar, had been somewhat disappointed when Kevin had showed little desire in learning magic. Bretons—like herself, and like Kevin's father—were supposed to be naturally inclined toward it, and she may have held hopes of finding herself an apprentice. Unfortunately, though he had dutifully learned that one spell without any particular difficulty, Kevin had been shown to lack the rich reserves of arcane energy a full-blooded Breton might have enjoyed. In any case, he had felt no draw toward exploring magic further, and though he felt somewhat guilty for it secretly Kevin was glad...

In this one instance at least he resembled a Nord, and those resemblances were often too few and precious for Kevin's liking.

"You do good," Ri'yaan commented as he came to crouch beside Kevin and the fire which was now settling into a blaze. "When Ri'yaan was your age, he tried to make flames once and burned his fur. He did not try again for many years."

Kevin swiftly forgot his earlier lamenting and smiled.

After that, Kevin helped Ri'yaan carry water to the two pack horses that had come with the caravan. Most Khajiit didn't have an appreciation for horseflesh—except perhaps as dinner. According to Ri'yaan, horses were few in Elsweyr—its northern deserts were too hot and harsh, and its southern jungles too dense. And those that one did find there often held the same antipathy for Khajiit that they would one of Skyrim's sabrecats. Traders and travelers in Elsweyr employed _Senche_—Khajiit that had been born to a four-legged shape which resembled a sabrecat—or _Senche-raht_ who were far larger, for their carrying instead.

Of course, it was for their resemblance to those dangerous animals that such Khajiit were not often seen outside of Elsweyr, Ri'yaan had told him. The cat-folk had learned long ago how easily tragic misunderstandings might be made.

Ri'yaan's caravan was an exception because Ri'yaan himself was. In his frequent trips up north, through Cyrodiil and into Skyrim, the grey Khajiit had come to value the use of pack horses. Though this was as much for their strength as for the prospect of emergency provisions that could carry themselves until needed.

"So, what story does Ri'yaan tell you today?" the Khajiit asked him, shortly later.

Kevin was cutting up an apple to feed to the two shaggy horses, having almost forgotten his earlier request.

"Tell me the one about M'aiq the Liar," Kevin said, after some thought.

Ri'yaan knew a lot of stories, and they were all good, but this was one of the best ones. Ri'yaan seemed pleased by Kevin's choice as well and settled down on a nearby log, his strange legs splayed. Lifting his long tail, he draped it over one knee to keep it out of the snow.

"M'aiq the Liar is a Khajiit," Ri'yaan began, "although some say that he is not a Khajiit. Some say that he is many Khajiit who have passed the name down, father unto son. And some even say that M'aiq is a name shared by many Khajiit at once, though for what purpose none claim to know."

When the apple was gone, Kevin let the horse lick the last of the juices from his hands before wiping them on his clothes, and moved to sit beside him. Though he had heard the story many times—at least once each time the traders came—Kevin listened closely, enjoying the sound of Ri'yaan's rough, rich voice, and the rhythm it fell into whenever the Khajiit told his tales.

"Others say that that it is the name of any Khajiit who would take it to leave his home and wander the skin of Nirni in solitude," Ri'yaan continued. "And still other's say that when a Khajiit comes upon an understanding of things other Khajiit may not know that he _becomes_ M'aiq. For M'aiq knows many things that others do not...perhaps some of them are true."

That part always made Kevin smile.

"Many believe that M'aiq is a mystic," Ri'yaan said, "but many more believe that he is mad. When this one was a cub, it was told to him that M'aiq was blessed by Sheggorath, or that he was Sheggorath himself. It was also said that M'aiq traded his reason to Clavicus Vile in return for a life long enough to walk every road there is, and that because Men are always making new roads he will never die."

"Whether any of these is the truth no one knows..." Ri'yaan told him, finally. "Or perhaps all of them are true, but either way it does not matter. The answers exist only to remind Khajiit that it is the _question_ which is important. Perhaps one day you will meet a lone Khajiit on the road, and you may ask M'aiq for yourself."

And as he quite often did after telling a story—and that story in particular—Ri'yaan turned to look at Kevin expectantly.

"Now...are there any questions for Ri'yaan?" the Khajiit asked.

Though it likely could have waited, Kevin couldn't help himself.

"Did you see my father when you were away?" he asked. "Did you give him my letter?"

Ri'yaan nodded solemnly.

"Of course," the Khajiit told him. "He read it over many times. He is always happy to receive word from you."

Feeling relief for he knew not what, Kevin smiled.

"And did he send me anything?" Kevin asked hesitantly, feeling a little guilty.

Though Kevin was always happy to read the letters his father sent him in return, often his father also sent Ri'yaan with gifts for him. While he did not want to seem greedy, he always looked forward to it.

Ri'yaan cast an eye over the campsite, which aside from the Khajiit unloading their wares at the other end of the camp, was empty save for the two of them. Looking at Kevin, Ri'yaan smiled with a silent nod.

"Ri'yaan will give them to you when you bring your bedroll down to the caravan tonight," he said, nudging Kevin's shoulder. "So go. Get your things."

He only needed telling once.

Kevin would not have imagined that anything might have cooled his excitement, but as he ran back into Dawnstar he was shocked back to reality. That shock took the form of a cold, solid, impact stinging the back of his head. Kevin let out a surprised shout as melted snow trickled down the back of his neck. Though his feet slid in the muddy snow of the thoroughfare Kevin managed to turn quickly toward his attacker, ready to defend himself, but he melted a little himself when he saw who it was.

"Kevin, you skeever brain! You left me!" Fruki shouted as she threw another snowball, hitting him square in the chest.

"Ow! Hey!"

"You're a jerk," Fruki said, bending down for more snow, "and a rotten cheater too!"

The next one she flung Kevin managed to dodge.

"I didn't cheat!" he objected hotly.

Because he was smart enough to realize—in hindsight—that he had been thoughtless running off on her. He regretted that, but he wasn't about to stand for abuse he _didn't_ deserve.

"You did so!" Fruki insisted. "It's not fair hiding in trees when no one else can climb that high."

"Then you should have known to look up," Kevin said. "I would have come down once you found me, so it's perfectly fair."

That much was true, and she probably knew it, because Fruki couldn't seem to find an argument for that. Her anger cooled just a little.

"You _still_ left me," Fruki repeated sullenly.

Kevin's shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry, Fruki," he said, "I just got excited. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Fruki huffed, but she seemed to accept this.

"You'd better."

Satisfied that he had secured her forgiveness, Kevin turned around to continue his way down the thoroughfare.

"Hey!" Fruki objected. "Where are you going?"

Kevin stopped, looking back.

"Home to get some things," Kevin answered her. "I'm staying with the Khajiit while they're here."

Fruki frowned as he said this, crossing her arms. Though rather than angry at him, now she seemed almost uncomfortable.

"I don't know how you can do that," she said uneasily.

And now it was Kevin's turn to feel uncomfortable, a cold tightness forming in his belly.

"They're my mother's friends," Kevin told her softly. "And they're _my_ friends."

"But they're so strange," Fruki said. "My dad says they're all liars and thieves, and that they sell people poison. Some of them are even spies for the elves. He said that's why they aren't allowed into town."

Kevin did his best not to be angry with her. Many of the people in Dawnstar said those things about the Khajiit because they didn't know them. As much as it hurt, his mother had cautioned him before that he really shouldn't blame Fruki for things her father had said, even if she was repeating them.

"Ri'yaan and his friends aren't like that," Kevin said simply, but emphatically. "You'd know that if you took the time."

Fruki seemed uncertain. She looked at him quietly for a while and then shrugged.

"Just don't forget your promise before you come back, okay?" she said.

"I won't," Kevin reassured her.

Satisfied with that, Fruki left him and headed toward her home. Kevin continued on his way toward his.

Kevin was not naïve—he had long been old enough to realize that not everyone was as friendly with the cat-folk as he and his mother were. Still, if it hurt hearing people say those things, from Fruki, who in the past few years had become the closest friend that he had at home, it hurt most of all...

Kevin's father was a Breton trader from the Imperial Province of Cyrodiil to the south. Years ago, he had come to Skyrim looking to trade for quicksilver from the mines near Dawnstar. There he had met Kevin's mother, and he had wound up settling down with her instead. But though Kevin had been told these things about him—by his mother, by others in the town, and by Ri'yaan—his father was a stranger, for he had never met the man.

Just days after Kevin was born, his father had been called away to manage problems for a business associate back in Bravil. He had not been able to come home. Settling accounts had taken longer than expected, and the war between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion had started before he could return. The seas hadn't been safe after that, and once the Imperial City had been taken, neither had the roads. If it hadn't been for his father's business partner Ri'yaan and his caravan, Kevin and his mother would likely have spent years never knowing that his father was still alive. The kingdoms of Elsweyr were under the protection of the Dominion, and the Khajiit and the high elves allies. During the Dominion's occupation of the Imperial City, the cat-folk could often safely go where humans could not, and it had been Ri'yaan and his caravan who had carried messages of Kevin's father home.

The war had lasted for four long years. It had devastated the southern cities of the Empire, and with its proximity to Elsweyr, Bravil had suffered most of all. With the Khajiit in Leyawiin controlling passage through the Lower Niben, the river trade which had once been Bravil's lifeblood had suffered badly—and even that trickle had dried to a halt once the elves had taken the Imperial City. Though once the war was over he had desperately wanted to return, with all of Cyrodiil trying to rebuild itself Kevin's father had found himself with duties in the south that could not be abandoned.

Kevin, who had now seen nine summers pass and was looking forward to his tenth, had never seen his father's face. Which was not to say that Kevin did not love his father—he did, even without meeting him, and very much so—but unfortunately Kevin had very little to show for it. Just the name he had been given before his father's departure, and their letters, and an amulet that his father had left to him, which Kevin he had worn since he was too young to remember...

And Ri'yaan, of course, which Kevin thought perhaps the best of all.

Kevin had never been quite as strong or as hardy as the other children his age. He took sick more easily, suffered more in the cold, and was nearly always hungry. During the bitter heart of winter, when he was very small, his mother had struggled just to keep weight on him. The town healer, Frida, had suggested warm milk fortified with herbs and honey, and it had worked—and to this day it was a remedy his mother forced on him when he was ill. But it had earned him the derisive kenning of "Honeymilk" among the other children of the town, and Kevin despaired that even as an adult he might never be rid of it.

But Kevin had been saved from the grief he might have earned from the other children for being the son of a foreigner who was not there to protect him. Though he would never be as tall or as strong as a full Nord, Kevin was faster than most, and he was clever, and Ri'yaan had taught him to _think_ and to be evasive, and to never let his disadvantages become a weakness.

In fact, no Khajiit had ever treated him as weak the way that other Nords did, and most of the other traders of the caravan were very fond of him, for one reason or another. They called him _ja'ahn kriniit_, which Ri'yaan had once said meant "laughing boy" in their language of _Ta'agra_. But Ri'yaan—and _only_ Ri'yaan—called him _ahzi' ja'ahn._What that meant was "_my_ boy", and of all the things Kevin was called, it had always been his favorite.

Kevin liked all of the Khajiit, but none of them more than Ri'yaan. Ri'yaan always tried to make time for him. He always seemed to enjoy seeing Kevin as much as Kevin enjoyed seeing him, and Kevin loved to hear Ri'yaan's stories as much as Ri'yaan enjoyed telling them.

And Ri'yaan had taken the time to teach him very important things.

Most Nords looked at the caravan and saw only Khajiit, but from Ri'yaan Kevin had learned to see other things. Ri'yaan had taught him words—like _Pa'alatiiniit_, and _Ne Quin-aliit_; like _Senche_, _Cathay_, and _Ohmes_—for other things Khajiit could be. But Ri'yaan had also taught him that these were all still just words, and that every Khajiit was always different from every other Khajiit, for no two were ever born with the same stripes. Ri'yaan told him stories about the Moons, and about Rajhin the Thief God, and M'aiq the Liar. He had told Kevin about Anequina's deserts and the jungles of Pelletine, and of the cane groves in Torval, where Ri'yaan had been born—

Though that last was only when Kevin's mother was not around to hear it.

Two summers ago, with his mother's blessing, Ri'yaan had begun teaching him the Two-Moons-Dance—a Khajiiti way of fighting barehanded as it was taught in the southern cities. Ri'yaan had thought it suited Kevin's lighter frame better than the heavy-bladed styles common to Nordish warrior tradition. With clever hands and quick feet Kevin could easily be a match for the stronger, pure-blooded Nord children in the town, Ri'yaan had said, if only he knew how to use them. And several months ago that spring, before the caravan had departed, Ri'yaan had promised that the next time he came he would teach Kevin to fight with daggers. For Ri'yaan had told him, almost sadly, that what he had already learned would be nearly sufficient if he were a Khajiit with claws and fangs of his own, but that a nice sharp blade of iron was almost as good.

Kevin loved his father, and his father's letters, and his father's gifts, but Ri'yaan was real to him in a way his father was not. Beside his mother, Ri'yaan was the only family that Kevin had.

When Kevin got home his mother, Sigun, was hanging the wash over the fire to dry. It was for this reason, he thought, that she seemed so displeased at the sight of him.

"And what were you up to?" his mother asked, turning him around to inspect his clothing. "You're soaked straight through. Tell me you weren't off making snow forts in the thickets again."

"No, Mama," Kevin told her quickly, shaking his head. "Fruki and I were playing hide and seek, and I climbed up a tree to hide, and I was just a little damp, I swear. But then I looked out over the road and saw Ri'yaan's caravan coming, and so I ran out to meet them, and I helped Ri'yaan with the fire. Only Fruki got mad at me for leaving her, so when I got back into town she threw snow at me."

The corner of Sigun's mouth twitched as he spoke, and Kevin felt his cheeks heating. She schooled her expression quickly, giving him a soft push.

"Go put on some dry things before you start to pack," she told him firmly. "I keep telling you, if you catch cold again it's going to ruin the rest of the summer for you. And you're having something to eat before you go."

"Yes, Mama," Kevin said, and went off to change.

Kevin stripped off his wet tunic, leaving it draped across his bed to dry some. Though a fire had been burning in their home for several hours and the air was warm, the amulet he wore concealed beneath his clothes felt, as always, unnaturally cool against his skin. With the sudden exposure of his damp flesh, that chill left goosebumps crawling across his arms, and rocked his thin frame with a shiver.

Lifting the amulet away from his chest, Kevin looked into the strange, leering face that stared back at him.

The amulet was made of silver—or at least something that was almost like silver. Whatever metal it really was, it had a dusky, dull shine, and it always felt cooler than it should and somewhat slippery, as if it had been coated in a very thin layer of oil that refused to be washed away. Its medallion hung from a thin chain of the same metal, studded with several very small, very dark stones. The face it bore was a strange one—Kevin had worn the amulet for as long as he could remember, and yet he had never been able to decide whether the face was of a man or a woman, human or elf. Its ears were strange, and not like either one—long, almost like a goat's ears, which made an odd kind of sense in a way, because its horns were like a goat's as well. Though the face wore a smile, as though laughing, Kevin had never liked the look of it... Something in its expression had always struck him as cruel.

Fighting off another shiver Kevin dressed himself warmly, tucking the amulet safely out of sight beneath his tunic.

Before he left, his mother would check to make sure he was still wearing the amulet. She did so every morning before he went to play, and again every evening when he came home. Kevin's mother had told him, a long time ago, that the amulet was very important. She hadn't said why, simply warned him that bad things would happen if he ever lost it or even took it off. Keeping it safe for his father was a big responsibility, she had told him, and she had made him promise to wear it at all times, and never to let anyone see it, or even tell them about it.

His questions about its origin and its purpose had always been met with vague answers: It was important. It had been his father's. It kept Kevin safe—though from what he never knew. Once, he had caught part of a conversation between Ri'yaan and his mother as they spoke about it. Ri'yaan had called it "the Ornament", but Kevin hadn't known what that detail might mean. And because he hadn't been meant to overhear, he hadn't been able to ask.

Kevin knew almost nothing about it, not for certain, but he had begun to have _ideas_ about it, and they worried him. And though he could not pinpoint when those ideas had begun to form, he knew exactly when he had first realized they were there.

It had happened during the previous winter. The Vigil of Stendarr had come to Dawnstar, visiting from their nearby hall. The Vigilants had come to offer healing to the sick and the lame, and to speak with the Jarl, Skald the Elder, about rumors of daedra worship within his Hold. While this audience had taken place, one of their number had stood upon the steps before the White Hall to deliver a sermon on the teachings of Stendarr, the Divine of Justice and Mercy. Kevin and Fruki had stood among the crowd, suffering the cold of the thoroughfare as they listened. The woman had spoken of the importance of charity and humility, and of strength of convictions as well as strength of the body, and of remaining forever steadfast against the unclean who had allowed themselves to fall prey to the influence of the daedra.

The stay of the Vigil had been the only interesting thing to happen in Dawnstar for several long, cold months, and both he and Fruki had been captivated. And the woman's words had stirred up an eagerness in him, so that afterward Kevin found himself telling his mother about it excitedly. But his mother had not shared his enthusiasm, and when he told her about his wish to some day join their ranks she had looked at him, her expression sad and somewhat fearful. And she had warned him to stay clear of the Vigilants as much as possible, and that an encounter with them could put him in danger. Kevin had been confused and disappointed, and oddly hurt, and he had badly wanted to know _why—_

Because the Vigilants were holy warriors who fought for justice—they fought _monsters _and protected people—and Kevin didn't understand why he should be afraid.

And his mother had agreed that this was true, but that it was the way they did those things that was dangerous, for the Vigil emphasized Stendarr's Justice over his Mercy, and the latter was not something they bestowed upon everyone equally. For it wasn't just the monsters which preyed on people that they stood against, she told him. The Vigil had formed in the wake of the Oblivion Crisis two centuries ago with the pledge to oppose the daedra and their worshipers at all costs. But, she reminded him, not all daedra were like Mehrunes Dagon—the Daedric Prince of Destruction whose followers had enacted the Crisis, and almost succeeded in securing their patron's conquest of the mortal world—nor all of their worshipers like his Cult of the Mythic Dawn.

Kevin had known these things, of course, though he hadn't realized until then that he did.

A few of the guards who traveled with Ri'yaan's caravans were followers of Hircine the Huntsman, who the Khajiit called the Hungry Cat. Many of his other associates had been worshipers of Azura. Ri'yaan, on the other hand, followed the traditional faith of Elsweyr which honored the Moons. Yet while the grey-furred Khajiit spoke little of other gods—daedric or Divine—outside of his stories, Kevin had always felt there was an imperative note to Ri'yaan's stories of daedra that his other tales lacked. Whether it was Rajhin the Thief and the ring that had made him the God of Thieves before abandoning him to his enemies, or the victims of Sheggorath's cruel and incomprehensible pranks, Ri'yaan's stories never seemed to condemn those who bargained with daedra.

And yet, at the same time, Ri'yaan was always emphatic about the lessons those stories held regarding the danger that lay in begging favors from the lords of Oblivion.

Kevin's mother had finally gone on to reassure him that he likely had nothing to fear. As unrelenting as the Vigil could be, she did not think they would harm a child. But, she had warned, if they discovered the amulet he wore around his neck they would not let him keep it.

"If anyone discovered that amulet we would have to leave Dawnstar," his mother had told him solemnly. "We would never be able to come back. Things would be very different without it, and our lives would never be the same again."

And though her words had frightened him, beneath his fear Kevin had felt strangely proud that she would trust him with something that important. Yet between his mother's warnings and the lessons Ri'yaan imparted with his stories, it had lead Kevin to wonder about the father that had left him with such a responsibility. If the Ornament really was an artifact from Oblivion, that would beg questions about its purpose, about what bargain his father could have made for it, and what price had been paid in return. And of course there was the question of whether or not any of those things might explain why his father had never come back...

Sometimes Kevin thought he might not want to hear the answers.

Kevin took a deep breath, expelling the dread the memory inspired from his lungs. Today was not the kind of day he wanted to spend thinking about those things. It was the day he inevitably spent the beginning of every summer—and often the start of every autumn, and most of every winter—thinking about. Ri'yaan and the other Khajiit came only twice a year, at mid-spring and late-summer, and during the three weeks the caravan usually camped beside the road outside of Dawnstar, Kevin would reside at the camp with them.

His welcome among them was something that no other child in Dawnstar was offered, a privilege that was reserved for him and for him alone. Not that it was an honor he was envied for, but in a way that only made it more unique and special, for the others didn't even understand what they were being denied. The other children—the _Nord_ children—all had each other as well as their siblings and their parents, their aunts and uncles and sometimes even grandparents, and lived a life free of scrutiny in the eyes of their elders. Kevin had no one but his mother, most days, and Fruki when he was lucky, and he often suffered the gaze of townsfolk who viewed him as a curiosity at best—

To others he was nothing less than an ill considered mistake, and many were not shy about sharing their opinions within earshot.

Kevin was used to being different from the other Nords in Dawnstar, and one might think that when he was with the Khajiit he would feel his pronounced differences from them even more keenly. Yet somehow that was not so. In fact, when Kevin was among the Khajiit, he was afforded freedoms that he could not honestly feel were his when he was at home. He was free to ask questions when he did not know the answers, free to bounce and fidget with the restless energy that often overtook him, to let his mouth run with his often rambling thoughts, and to be honest about his limitations—to voice it when he was cold, or tired, or hungry—without feeling he was being judged for them.

Among the Khajiit, Kevin was never made to feel that being different was somehow a crime.

This was because Khajiit were naturally diverse, Ri'yaan had once taken the time to explain. Due to the force which Khajiit called _ja-Kha'jay_—the Lunar Lattice—their shapes were dictated by the phases of the Moons at their birth. The large, powerful _Cathay-raht_ were taller than most Nords; the slight, hairless _Ohmes_ were almost indistinguishable from wood elves; the tiny _Alfiq_ walked on four legs, and many humans mistook them for house cats—yet in Elsweyr it was accepted that all three could exist within a single family, and might even be brothers. To the Khajiit, a difference was only a weakness until one discovered its purpose, for what made one Khajiit weaker than another in one way often gave them strength in another.

Ri'yaan was _Pakseech_ of his trade-clan, and well respected by the Khajiit in his caravans. All of them knew their leader cared for Kevin the way he would his own cub, and for most of them that was enough. They accepted Kevin's presence easily—often fondly—and to many it was no different than if he were a young _Ohmes_ growing up amongst them.

His eagerness and high mood rekindled, Kevin finished packing his things. Then his mother made him sit down to a lunch of beef stew and buttered bread—and being quite hungry from his earlier activities, he did so without complaint—as she made her usual admonitions to stay dry and warm, to mind Ri'yaan and the others, and to be careful.

She also made him promise that he would eat some _real_ food whenever possible.

Kevin had always been mad for sweet things. When the weather allowed, he and Fruki would go out picking snowberries together. Other times they picked flowers and plants that they could offer to the town's herbalist, Frida, in return for pocket money—and once their shares were divvied up, sweets were invariably what Kevin spent his on. The Khajiit, as a rule, were also fond of sweetness, and often when he spent his time with the caravan they chose to spoil him. His mother knew this, and she allowed their indulgence though she often pretended otherwise. Though he seemed to have hit his growth early he was still underweight compared to his peers, and his mother often worried about him.

So long as he was eating well alongside, however, she clearly felt it could do him little harm.

When Kevin was finished, his mother checked his pack to make sure he had everything he needed. Then she made sure his father's amulet was safely around his neck. Satisfied, she kissed him on the forehead and sent him off with a smile and a final warning to take care.

By the time he returned to the caravan the tents had all been set up, and the Khajiit had settled into their usual business. Ri'yaan's young protege, J'draash, was busy splitting firewood. One of the guards, Ma'shiija, was gone—Kevin thought she was likely off checking the surrounding woods for danger. The other, Marash, stood before Ri'yaan's tent, alert for trouble, and Kevin could see Ri'yaan speaking with Thoring, the innkeeper's son, inside.

Thoring's father was one of the few people in Dawnstar, besides Kevin and his mother, who generally looked forward to the caravan's coming. While the miners and fishermen who lived in the town were often content with the locally brewed mead, the sailors who came in to port from Windhelm and Solstheim had more coin to spare on drink of higher quality. Ri'yaan's caravan often brought him wines from Cyrodiil. The grey Khajiit also had some kind of arrangement with a brewery owner in southern Skyrim who could supply the tavern with finer meads. Though Thoring's father could have dealt with them directly, over the long haul ordering his stock through Ri'yaan cost much less.

Kevin did his best not to feel disappointed. He knew it was business that brought Ri'yaan and the others to Dawnstar. If Ri'yaan was busy, it wouldn't do to interrupt, and so Kevin took his pack and settled down on the log that had been drawn up next to the fire.

"Aww. Is it lonely?"

Kevin nearly jumped, turning so quickly on the damp log that he slid onto the ground. Which left him looking up into the face of the caravan guard, Ma'shiija, who was smiling.

"_Tss_," Ma'shiija hissed softly, with exaggerated affront. "Caught off guard like a blind fool. Has it forgotten all it has learned? This will not do. Up."

Kevin scrambled up from his prone position obediently, dusting snow and frozen earth from his clothes to present himself properly. Ma'shiija made a pleased sound.

"Come, _ja'ahn kriniit_," Ma'shiija commanded brusquely. "Show Ma'shiija what it remembers of the Dance while Ri'yaan is engaged, and this one will decide if it may hunt with her later."

Kevin wasn't as fond of Ma'shiija as he was of Ri'yaan. Ma'shiija had only been coming to Dawnstar with the caravan for the past two years, while Kevin had known Ri'yaan for all of his life. There was nothing wrong with the other Khajiit, of course, simply that she _wasn't_ Ri'yaan. But Ri'yaan might not be finished with his business until it was time for dinner, and though Kevin preferred his lessons from Ri'yaan there were times when her instruction was necessary.

As Ri'yaan had taught him long ago, there were many kinds of Khajiit. Ri'yaan was _Suthay-raht_, which were smaller than most Men—though taller still, Ri'yaan was always careful to insist, than a good many other Khajiit—and his back legs bent as a beast's legs did so that he walked on his toes at all times. His feet were clawed and heavy-padded, and he though he wrapped them against the biting snows he did not wear shoes. Though his legs were swift and powerful, his stride was different than a Man's stride, and sometimes he had difficulty adapting the movements of the Two-Moons-Dance into something Kevin could manage. Ma'shiija, on the other hand, was _Cathay_. She was taller than Ri'yaan, and her legs more manlike, and it had thus fallen to her on more than one occasion to teach Kevin the footwork and moves that Ri'yaan could not.

Of course Ma'shiija was often quite merciless.

In spite of the cold air, Kevin was sweating by the time Thoring returned to Dawnstar, but he had satisfied Ma'shiija enough that she had promised he could accompany her hunt the following evening if Ri'yaan allowed. With his business concluded for the day, Ri'yaan had joined them at the fire. J'draash had prepared an early-evening meal of roast goat glazed with honey, and a sweet, milky soup made from apples. Kevin sat close to Ri'yaan, sharing the warmth of a thick quilt as the Khajiit told him of his recent travels in the south and answered Kevin's questions about his father's well being and the affairs occupying him in Bravil. Then Ma'shiija had packed a pipe of Nibenese tobacco to share with Ri'yaan as Marash and J'draash bandied lewd insults back and forth—a lighthearted sport which Marash always won.

Later that night Ri'yaan prepared a second light meal of cheese curds warmed in honey-sweetened cream. Kevin spent the time watching J'draash display his tricks of the hand. Ri'yaan had told him once that the younger Khajiit possessed not an ounce of real magic to speak of, yet J'draash could appear to make objects vanish or change just as easily as Madena. Even if it was not real magic, Kevin found it spectacular, and loved to watch hoping to figure out how it was done, and sometimes if his guesses were close J'draash would teach him.

When they were finished J'draash and the two guards disappeared into their tent and Kevin and Ri'yaan retired to the other.

Kevin had already laid out his bedroll earlier in the night, but he wasn't ready to sleep just yet. He waited patiently, sitting on his bed as Ri'yaan tied the tent-flaps tight against the chill wind and carefully banked a few coals from the campfire in a brazier to keep them warm for the night. Then Ri'yaan settled down onto his own bed, and from a bundle of furs he brought out the gifts sent by Kevin's father.

Kevin read the letters first, though he already knew most of what was in them from what Ri'yaan had told him beside the campfire. In any case he could always read them again later—and usually did, more than once—but in addition to the letters and books and the other gifts his father had sent, Ri'yaan brought out a small wooden box, and soon curiosity and anticipation had Kevin all but trembling...

For Ri'yaan and Kevin had a secret that they had been keeping for...perhaps as long as Kevin had even understood what a secret was. Sometimes, when Ri'yaan returned from his trip to the south, he brought Kevin a very special sort of gift—

Sweets, from Elsweyr.

Candied fruits, glazed nuts, sticky pastries flavored with lavender, soft, dark candies that melted away in his mouth... Each time he brought them they were different, but whatever their kind or shape there was always the same taste beneath it. It was a flavor that was dark, like honey got when it began to burn, with an odd spiciness that left his whole mouth tingling for as long as it stayed on his tongue. It was very distinctive, and like nothing else that Kevin had ever tasted. That flavor was called _je'm'ath_, Ri'yaan had told him once—an ingredient both widespread and precious in Elsweyr, though it was not often used anywhere else.

Though Ri'yaan had never come out and said so, Kevin knew from the solemnity with which the Khajiit gave them that these gifts were very special. Ri'yaan had made him swear by the Moons and on his mother's hidden shrine to Talos never to share them, or to speak of them with anyone...

Not even his own mother.

Kevin opened the box slowly. Inside sat a half-dozen small shapes, wrapped up in waxy paper. At Ri'yaan's encouraging nod, he drew one out, unwrapping it to reveal a small, orange-gold ball. Pulling it free slowly so that the wrapper would not tear, Kevin gave it a careful taste. The candy was sweet and tart, bright in a way that was unfamiliar, and hard as a rock against his teeth. Licking his lips as they warmed with the _je'm'ath_, Kevin glanced at Ri'yaan curiously.

"I don't know this flavor," Kevin said.

"It is orange," Ri'yaan told him, smiling.

Kevin frowned, for a moment convinced that Ri'yaan was making a joke at his expense. But Ri'yaan laughed, leaning over to ruffle his hair.

"Ri'yaan does not try to fool, _ahzi' ja'ahn_," the Khajiit said softly. "In the Imperial tongue it is simply called 'orange'. It is a fruit with a thick, bright rind that grows in the groves of southern Elsweyr. Perhaps next year Ri'yaan will bring one for you, so you can see."

Kevin accepted this easily, and laid down on his bedroll with the orange candy tucked in his cheek. Kevin liked the candies Ri'yaan gave him best before bedtime. They left his body warm and his thoughts light and happy, and he often had the most exciting dreams once he slept.

"Can you tell me another story, Ri'yaan?" Kevin asked quietly as the Khajiit drew the thick quilt over him, tucking him in tightly.

Ri'yaan considered briefly before nodding.

"Of course," Ri'yaan said, lying down in his own bedroll beside Kevin's. "Which would you like?"

Kevin hardly had to think about it.

"Tell me the one about the Moons," Kevin said.

Ri'yaan smiled proudly and began his tale.

"In the beginning were the First Two," Ri'yaan said. "Their names were Ahnurr and Fadomai, and they were the great parents of all that is. In their first litter were born the gods who Men and Mer call Divine. In their second, they birthed those that are called Daedra. And Ahnurr was content with his many children, but Fadomai tricked him into fathering a third litter. And so it was that Fadomai gave birth to the Moons, Masser and Secunda. Also she gave birth to Nirni, who is the world, and to Azurah, who is the dawn and the dusk, and always the two sisters were rivals. And Ahnurr was angered by Fadomai's deceit, so that she and her children hid in the Great Darkness, where she gave birth to Lorkaj last of all..."

A few years ago, Fruki had been given a copy of _A Children's Anuad _for her birthday, which held the story of creation as it was told to worshipers of the Divines. Many of the names and concepts were similar to the Khajiit story Ri'yaan that had enjoyed telling him since he was very small. Anu and Padomay had been brothers in those myths, and Anu's wife, Nir, had given birth to Creation. Padomay had been the villain. Kevin thought Lorkaj was probably Lorkan, who some said the high elves demonized, but who in ancient Nord legends was called Shor, who was the patron of Men.

Yet the Khajiit legends reserved the greatest roles for the Moons, and for the Daedric Prince Azura.

"After her birthing, Fadomai lay dying," Ri'yaan continued solemnly, "and to her last litter she bestowed her gifts. To the Moons she gave _ja-Kha'jay_, the Lunar Lattice, to protect the world against the rage of Ahnurr. To Nirni, she gave the gift of having many children of her own. Pleased with her gift, Nirni left to create her children, and did not see the gift given to her younger sister. And to Azurah, Fadomai gave the gift of Three Secrets. And with her last words, Fadomai commanded her daughter to take one of Nirni's children when they were born, and to make them the fastest and the cleverest and the most wonderful, for they would need to guard against Ahnurr's anger should the Moons ever fail."

"And Lorkaj created a place for Nirni's children to live," Ri'yaan continued, "and she filled it with many litters. But soon she knew sorrow, for the Forest People, her favorite children, did not know their shape. And Azurah took pity on Nirni. She spoke her First Secret, and the Moons let her come into the world. Azurah took to herself some of the Forest People, and because she was wise she gave to them all of the shapes they would need. And Azurah told them her Second Secret, which was to know the value of secrets, and she bound them to _ja-Kha'jay_, to aid the Moons in their defense of Nirni. And Azurah placed them in the deserts and in the jungles, and she named them Khajiit. Finally, she spoke her Third Secret so that the Moons blessed the waters with their light, and with the twin tides that carry it to the shore. And in the great marshes fed by the sea, the grasses drink in the light of the moon, which becomes _je'm'ath_."

Ri'yaan leaned over to rake Kevin's hair gently with his claws.

"And so it is that every Khajiit knows its shape from the Moons of his birth," he said, "and in consuming the _je'm'ath_ we partake of their continued blessings, for this is our part in preserving the life of Nirni for generations to come."

Ri'yaan had once told him that Khajiit were not much for books, and that their stories were rarely written down. Most learned their history from the mouths of their parents when they were cubs, or from the Clan Mothers who guided the wisdom of their tribes. Ri'yaan's stories had all been told to him by Ri'yaan's mother, and to her by her father, and he by his father before him, and so on back into time beyond mortal memory. And it was for this reason, more than any other, that Kevin enjoyed his stories so much. When he was listening to Ri'yaan's stories, Kevin almost felt like he too was a part of the trader's family.

Which reminded him...

"Do you tell your son these stories?" Kevin found himself asking sleepily, once Ri'yaan had finished.

Kevin immediately wished he hadn't. Though he had never heard the reason, he knew that Ri'yaan rarely chose to speak of his son. Kevin didn't even know his name or how old he was. He also knew what the answer must be, in any case...

"Of course," Ri'yaan told him softly. "Whenever Ri'yaan is there to do so."

Kevin turned over to look at Ri'yaan then.

"Does he live in Torval, where you're from?" he asked.

Ri'yaan huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head.

"No," Ri'yaan said quietly. "Torval stopped being home to Ri'yaan long ago. This one met his wife on the road as a trader, and it was with her Ri'yaan left his son when he was born."

"Oh," Kevin said, disarmed by the Khajiit's sadness. "I'm sorry."

Ri'yaan offered him a gentle smile.

"Do not be sorry for questions, _ahzi' ja'ahn_," Ri'yaan told him. "There are no bad questions in this world."

"Do you stop to see him often?" Kevin had to ask, since he was apparently being given leave.

"Whenever it is possible," Ri'yaan said. "Which is less than this one would like."

"You miss him a lot, don't you?" Kevin asked, and he felt a pang that he was ashamed to realize was jealousy.

Ri'yaan looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before ruffling his hair once more with a soft smile.

"Always, _ahzi' ja'ahn_," Ri'yaan said, "but always less when you are here."

And those words made Kevin feel warmer than either the brazer's fire or the _je'm'ath_ ever could.

That night, Kevin dreamt he was back in Dawnstar, playing with Fruki. It was his turn to search, and though he looked in all the usual places he could not find her. It was in the nearby woods where they had been playing that day that he picked up her tracks in the snow, but the trail was quickly lost within the trees. Instead of searching with his eyes, Kevin put his back to the tree trunk, using his other senses in his hunt the way Ma'shiija always urged him to do. But no sooner had he tried than he saw snow drifting down in front of his face.

Looking up into the branches, he heard Fruki giggle.

Kevin wasted no time in climbing up after her, lifting himself nimbly into the lower branches with his usual ease. Yet he didn't find her where he thought he would, for it seemed Fruki had climbed farther up onto the lighter branches where she was usually too afraid to go. Kevin soon reached her, only to find her attention focused elsewhere, higher up in the tree. He thought to use her distraction to catch her by surprise. Very cautiously, he crept up beside her, only as he reached out to tag her she laughed again. Following her eyes upward, he soon saw what she was looking at, and his own eyes widened faintly in surprise.

A Khajiit cub close to their own age perched comfortably in the branches there.

Kevin knew immediately who he was. His fur was a light grey with dark stripes just like Ri'yaan's, and Kevin didn't doubt for a second that he was looking at the trader's son. His earlier jealousy forgotten, Kevin climbed eagerly up into the high branches to meet him. The cub crouched lightly with his back to the tree trunk, weight balanced neatly on the balls of his clawed feet. His tail curled loosely around the branch he sat upon. When Kevin made it onto the closest branch beside him, the cub looked at him and smiled.

And without even being asked, the Khajiit had joined them in their game.


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast the next morning was warm buttered bread with honey, and afterward J'draash handled business with the visiting townsfolk so that Ri'yaan could introduce Kevin to knife-fighting like he had promised. Near mid-day, Kevin's mother arrived for a visit, and as usual she and Ri'yaan spent much of that time in private. Though Marash tried to distract him with some exaggerated tale from the caravan's trip up north, it was difficult for him to think of anything else.

Kevin knew that his mother and Ri'yaan were talking about his father.

Ever since he was a small boy, the people of Dawnstar had called his mother Sigi the Steadfast for the unwavering faithfulness she showed to her distant husband. As he had grown older, Kevin had come to learn that the name showed more than mere honest respect—often, it was spoken with pity.

While it wasn't unusual these days for a child to have only a mother or a father—and indeed, the Empire's recent war with the high elves had made the situation all too common—Kevin had always understood that in many ways his circumstances were different. His father, though absent, was still alive, and though it was a lesser sin compared to who his father was, like most of the things that he had no control over it seemed impossible for others to forget. But though Kevin had been made painfully aware of his father's absence for all his life it was only in recent years that he had come to understand that he was not the only one who suffered for it...

Only as he had grown older had Kevin come to understand how _lonely_ his mother was.

It hurt him very much to think about it, and never was it more prominently on his mind than when his mother spoke alone with Ri'yaan. And though when he was little Kevin had begrudged her the secrecy of this time alone, he now understood that her grief regarding such things was not something she had wanted him to see. All the same, it was a relief to him once she emerged from Ri'yaan's tent shortly later.

This time, at least, she had not been crying.

Afterward, Kevin accompanied his mother back into Dawnstar. There were things the Khajiit would need, both during their stay and in preparation for their departure, and because they were barred from the town it was up to Kevin's mother to arrange things for them. Blades would need to be sharpened at the forge, and an order of arrowheads placed for Ma'shiija. Fresh provisions would need purchasing to replace those that had spoiled or been consumed. As well, the Khajiit were poor farriers and would need someone with skill to check the shoeing of their horses.

Kevin was happy to help his mother with these errands, and recounted to her the events of his first night as he did so. His mother listened with a smile.

After their visit to the blacksmith, she allowed him to take Ri'yaan's list to Frida on his own.

A healer of celebrated skill, according to his mother the old matron had delivered every child born in Dawnstar for the past twenty years or more. Frida was well respected in Dawnstar, and one of the few that his mother could honestly call a friend. Her husband was an alchemist dedicated to the perfection of his craft, and was often traveling in search of new ingredients and new knowledge. With her husband's frequent absences, Frida and Kevin's mother walked a lot of common ground, and over the years they had come to understand each other in a way few other people did.

When Kevin entered the Mortar and Pestle, Frida's shop and dwelling that was right across the way from their home, the old healer greeted him as she so often did with a smile.

"Greetings, child," Frida said. "I hope your mother is well."

"She is, ma'am," Kevin told her.

"And what is it that brings you into my shop alone this day," Frida asked him with a smirk. "Hoping to beg a little honeycomb off my shelves?"

"No ma'am," Kevin said quickly. "Ri'yaan's caravan arrived yesterday and my mother sent me over here to..."

Catching the amused glint in her eye, Kevin trailed off.

"But you already knew that," Kevin said sheepishly as he slid the list his mother had given him across the counter.

Frida smiled at him as she took it.

"I did already know that," Frida confirmed, giving the scrap of parchment a quick glance.

"Hmph," she muttered after a moment's study. "Their usual order of remedies. "

Her irritation, though affectionate, sounded genuine. Frida had always been civil to the Khajiit, though according to his mother she had been slow to warm up to them. That had eventually changed as, over the years, they had proven one of her best sources for exotic components for her craft. Frida therefore appreciated the Khajiit more than most, though she often despaired—and quite loudly—that she would never understand them.

"Not that I'd ever be fool enough to turn away good business," Frida said, "but sometimes I wonder what use they even have for it. The potions of warmth I understand, but they always seem to order more curatives for disease than anyone would ever need..."

"It's because of the sabrecats," Kevin said, shifting his feet as he traced a whorl in the wood of the counter with his finger.

Frida's shop was always full of strange and interesting things. Most of those things were also expensive. Kevin's mother had impressed on him long ago that he was not to touch unless he was told to. It often wasn't easy, as his curiosity frequently got the better of him, but he did try.

"What about them?" Frida asked as she busied herself collecting ingredients for Ri'yaan's order. "And bring me those purple flowers there, would you?"

Frida came around the counter and walked over to the heavy table beneath the stairs that housed her equipment. Kevin grabbed the bundle of flowers from where they hung near the door and followed. Frida lit the small tabletop furnace, stoking it carefully. Kevin handed her the flowers and then climbed halfway up the stairs and lay down on his belly so that he could watch Frida work through the space between the steps.

"Marash says that sabrecats used to be Khajiit, a long time ago," Kevin told her as Frida retrieved other ingredients from a nearby shelf. "He says that Shor cursed them back in the days of Wulfharth. He changed them into beasts and took their reason, and now their children hunt for Khajiit and try to steal their minds away from them. Marash says a sabrecat can spread its curse with only a scratch of its claws..."

Frida laughed, looking up at him with a wry smile.

"Superstitious nonsense," she said. "That's _witbane_, child. A grave illness, to be sure, but no more supernatural than that chill you caught last month."

Kevin made a face at the unpleasant reminder.

"Are you sure?" he asked, frowning.

Frida had crushed the flowers into a fine powder and was carefully measuring them into the strange, roiling creation of glass that bubbled over the furnace.

"Hm? Yes," Frida said shortly, distracted in her work. "Of course, I can easily see how a story like that might have gotten started. There are, after all, curses that do spread like that."

"You mean like vampires?" Kevin asked. "And werewolves?"

During their visit, the Vigilants of Stendarr had warned strongly about the threats posed by the abominations created by the power of the daedra. Vampires were the creation of Molag Bal, Daedric Prince of Domination, and lycanthropes like werewolves the servants of Hircine, but both could spread the curse to others with their blood or with their bite.

"Yes, like vampires and werewolves," Frida said. "And the Dunmer tell stories about the Blight that erupted out of their mountain in Morrowind long ago. But these are all things that have been witnessed and recorded. They are well known, because people have seen them, or have known others who have seen them. But I've never seen a Khajiit turn into a sabrecat, and I've never heard of anybody who has. I'd be willing to bet that if you put him to the question you'll find that Marash hasn't either."

There was a sharp note of exasperation in her voice. Kevin thought it was likely because she was busy. Though he half wanted to argue, Kevin decided to let it go. Moving to the shelf beside her she retrieved a couple of small bottles, wrapping them in a soft piece of cloth.

"Here," Frida said, "take these. The rest will need to cure for the rest of a day and night. Tell Ri'yaan I'll bring them to the caravan when I make my own visit tomorrow."

Kevin clambered down from his spot on the steps to accept the bundle, and handed her the money his mother had given him for Ri'yaan's purchases in return.

When Kevin left the Mortar and Pestle it was still afternoon, but a cold wet wind was blowing off of the harbor, seeding the air with a damp early chill. Yet Kevin's mind was elsewhere as he thought over what Frida had said. It was always difficult weighing the words of one adult he knew over another, when both were people he trusted. But though he loved Marash's stories nearly as much as Ri'yaan's, Kevin was well aware that the Khajiit loved to boast and exaggerate—indeed, it was one of his most favored ways to pass the time—whereas Frida was rarely given to such. And so he supposed that it was likely that Frida was right, and that sabrecats were not cursed after all...

Though their size and hunger were still frightening enough for any Khajiit unfortunate enough to meet one.

Kevin was so absorbed in his fancy as he made his way back up the thoroughfare toward the inn to meet his mother that he failed to realize he was not the only one walking that street. In fact, though his ears were usually quite sharp, between the sound of the winds and the surf he failed to notice he was being followed until those stalking him were very close indeed.

And by then, of course, it was already too late.

The first shove sent him falling, and though he managed to keep his feet underneath him Kevin quickly found himself on his knees. He managed to catch himself from landing face first in the gritty, mud-churned snow, but he lost his grip on the bundle he carried in the process. The cloth unwrapped itself, sending the bottles spilling out onto the street. Fortunately they did not break. Frida always used hardy stoneware for her brews, and many of the guards—all of whom used them quite often—boasted they could take a beating from a troll without having a single one of her potions shatter.

Though as far as Kevin was concerned, comparing Hjalfi—the young son of Jarl Skald the Elder himself—with the likes of a troll was to do the hairy, reeking beasts a foul disservice.

"What's in the bottles, _baby_? More honey for your milk?"

"Go away," Kevin said, trying to ignore him.

He warmed his frozen hands under his arms before trying to retrieve the bottles from where they lay in the snow. Unfortunately, Hjalfi wasn't alone. Bulfrek was with him. Bulfrek...wasn't terrible, Kevin thought. Or at least he wouldn't have been if not for Hjalfi. But Bulfrek's parents both served the Jarl loyally, just as his grandfather had served Skald's father long ago, and Bulfrek seemed doomed by both honor and expectation to suffer their very same fate. As a consequence, he was constantly following Hjalfi's lead, and always did anything the other boy told him to, usually without question.

Bulfrek kicked the bottle under Kevin's fingers out of his reach, towards Hjalfi. The Jarl's son picked it up, examining the label with a laugh.

"Warming potion?" Hjalif mocked. "It's summer, you milk drinker. If you can't stand the cold even in summer, maybe you should go back to High Rock where you belong."

Kevin finished retrieving the remaining the bottles, and dragged himself to his feet. The knees of his leggings were soaked straight through, and his fingers numb from digging through the muddy slush at the road's edge, but he gritted his teeth, determined not to show his misery.

"My father isn't from High Rock," Kevin corrected, though he knew it was pointless. "And they're not for me, they're for the Khajiit, so give it back."

Hjalfi tucked the bottle into his belt.

"Then fight me for it," he challenged. "Unless you're too much of a snow-back to do even that."

"I don't _want_ to fight you, Hjalfi," Kevin said.

And Kevin felt he would have been a fool to want to.

Hjalfi was twelve, older than him by three years, and though his recent growth spurt had left them nearly of a height, the older boy was built much more sturdily than he. Not that Kevin didn't think he could beat the other boy if he had to—even if Bulfrek decided to gang up on him as well. But it would be ugly, and he knew it would only bring him more trouble later. And one thing Ri'yaan had always cautioned him was to choose his fights carefully. There was no shame, he had said, in passing up the little ones—or even letting himself lose them—so that his opponents would underestimate him in the fights that truly mattered.

And as much as it stung him to endure Hjalfi's abuse, Kevin knew the potions weren't worth it. Ri'yaan expected him to be smarter than that, and so instead of rising to Hjalfi's provocation Kevin simply wrapped up the rest of the bottles in their cloth and started to walk away.

"You're such an idiot, Hjalfi," a voice spoke up suddenly.

Kevin and the two boys both turned, and found Fruki watching them.

"Huh?" Hjalfi said, and his apparent confusion made even Bulfrek stifle a snort.

"If you don't give that back right now, I'll tell Frida that you stole it. Then see what happens when the whole town knows you for a thief."

Kevin could see, as he watched Hjalfi's face, the weight of that threat sinking in. There were few things a person could be that were worse than being a coward, but a thief was certainly one of them. And Fruki was right, Hjalfi wasn't very bright, but he understood that much. With what could only be called an angry and disgusted scowl, the older boy took the bottle from his belt and dropped into into the snow and mud at his feet.

"Come on, Bul," Hjalfi said. "He's just a waste of time anyway."

And with little more regard than that, the two boys walked away.

Kevin picked up the bottled potion and wiped it clean on his shirt—his mother would insist he change clothes when he got back to camp again, anyway. When he was finished he tucked it back in with the others, turning to smile at Fruki gratefully.

"Thank you, Fruki," Kevin said. "I hate dealing with those two."

"You know, things might be better if you did just fight them," Fruki said. "Even if you lost, at least they wouldn't think you're afraid of them."

"I'm not," Kevin insisted. "But I'd rather they think I _was_ afraid than think I cared what they think."

Fruki frowned, seeming confused, but didn't ask. Kevin sighed.

"I have to get back to my mother at the inn so we can take the Khajiit their supplies," he said, shifting his grip on the bundle in his arms.

Then a thought occurred to him and he smiled.

"Come with me," Kevin said.

"What?"

"Come with me," he said again, smiling. "You can see the camp with me and my mother. I know you usually stay away, but if you're worried I can walk you back after."

Fruki frowned, seeming uncertain.

"And you can keep me safe from those two cheese-brains on the way," he offered, still smiling.

Frida looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if she thought he was making fun of her. Kevin knew she had trouble understanding how he could joke about something like that—accepting protection, and from a _girl_—as though he really didn't mind. Kevin really didn't, though if given the choice he would rather have no need. But the fact that Fruki would and did defend him when Hjalfi and the others gave him grief meant more to him than the acceptance that the other boys withheld from him ever could.

So he did joke, and easily, for the rest, as Ri'yaan had taught him to see it, was only as serious as he let it be.

Fruki did come with him. They met his mother at the Windpeak Inn, and he suffered her aghast horror at the sodden state of his clothing with as much dignity as he could muster. And they both helped his mother carry the things she had bought as they made their way toward the caravan.

Ri'yaan was speaking with the mine owner when they returned—business, Kevin knew, that was done on his father's behalf.

The quicksilver that was mined in Dawnstar was rare. It was used to make armor in the elven style that was lightweight but nearly as hard as steel. In the south, Ri'yaan had told him, there was a style of armor called "mail" that people made out of chains. Mail made from quicksilver was called "mithril", and it was even lighter than elven armor, and though not quite as strong it was much sought after by archers and swift fighters, and therefore very valuable. Kevin had asked to learn those things because he thought his father might be pleased that he had learned them. Though that much had been true, it hadn't truly helped him to feel any closer to his distant father as Kevin had hoped. Still, Ri'yaan had praised his efforts, and consoled him with the fact that one was rarely poorer for knowledge once they had it.

Fruki hung very close to them as Kevin and his mother handed the supplies off to J'draash—though the young Khajiit, for his part, seemed almost as leery of her as she was of him. His mother also handed J'draash a small bag that it turned out was filled with vegetables. Though the Khajiit's lip curled with visible distaste at the thought, his mother managed to extract J'draash's promise that Kevin would eat at least _some_ of them while he was there.

Then, as expected, Kevin's mother sent him into the tent, insisting that he change his clothes for something dry.

Kevin huffed a breath, but he was chilled enough by then that he did not argue. Unhappily, he left Fruki to his mother's care and went inside. As he shucked his muddy clothes, Kevin considered how he might adjust his plans. His hope in bringing Fruki to the caravan had been to introduce her to the Khajiit—for her to finally know them as Kevin did—but he saw now it would be a difficult task. Fruki was nervous, as he had known she would be, but he had been surprised to see J'draash seem so. But J'draash was strange like that, even showing fear of Kevin's mother at times. Indeed, the young Khajiit had all but jumped his skin some long time ago when Kevin had praised his hand-tricks in front of her.

Though, now that he thought about it, Sigun's reaction to his description of items mysteriously vanishing had seemed oddly disapproving.

Ri'yaan, he knew, would have managed to put her at ease, but Ri'yaan was busy. And Ma'shiija was...too intense for Fruki's first meeting, Kevin felt. Marash, as ever, was charged this day with supervising Ri'yaan's safety during the meeting. If proper introductions were to take place then it would be up to Kevin to convince Fruki that she should stay.

When Kevin emerged from the tent, Fruki still hovered close to his mother, who waited patiently to take his muddy clothing and bid him goodnight. Kevin passed off the clothes to her in a bundle and then dutifully endured her kiss, hardly waiting for her to depart before taking Fruki by the hand and tugging her toward his tent.

"Come on," Kevin told her, "I want to show you what my father sent."

Though Fruki was not so fond of stories as Kevin was she loved to hear about far away places, and he knew the books would spark her interest. There was a book of old riddles, one about the Imperial City, and another about ancient Akavir that his father had picked up in Rimmen. Kevin also showed her the set of light steel daggers his father had given him for his training with Ri'yaan, which one of the letters said had been made in Rihad, in Hammerfell.

As he was pulling the other items out of his pack to show her, the small wooden box that held the orange sweets had gotten loose from the bundled cloth which had kept it safely hidden. Kevin noticed it sitting on his bedroll with a start and tried to hide it under a blanket without Fruki's notice. Unfortunately his efforts failed, and inevitably only served to stoke her curiosity about its contents further.

"What is it?" Fruki asked, intrigued by the box and its apparent mystery.

Kevin sat quiet a moment, toying with the small brass latch, and trying not to look as guilty as he felt.

"I can't tell you," Kevin told her.

Though he knew she wouldn't simply take that as his answer.

"Why not?" she asked him.

Her expression had slipped into a slight, disappointed frown, and Kevin knew his answers would only upset her further.

"Because I'm not _allowed_ to," Kevin told her. "It's a secret.

Fruki seemed to have trouble accepting this, and had no problem letting him know it.

"I don't believe you," she said. "You're lying."

"I'm not lying," Kevin insisted, beginning to feel upset himself. "It's true."

"Why would your father give you anything that's a secret?" she asked.

"They're not from my father," Kevin said. "They're from Ri'yaan, and he's said I'm not supposed to share them."

Though clearly still intrigued, Fruki immediately turned wary and distrustful. That was the exact opposite of how Kevin wanted her to feel about the Khajiit, especially Ri'yaan. It hurt him. And though in his heart he knew it was a mistake, Kevin didn't want her to feel like that, so with a sigh he opened the box to her sight.

"There, see?" Kevin said. "It's nothing bad. Just...they're special. Even my mother doesn't know I have them."

"What are they?" Fruki asked him, looking over the paper-wrapped items curiously.

"Candies," Kevin said. "They're from the south where the Khajiit are from."

Fruki looked at them skeptically for a moment.

"How are they special?" she asked him with a frown.

Kevin found himself at a loss for how to explain.

The sweets were special to Ri'yaan because the Khajiit believed the _je'm'ath_ was sacred, and because they were special to Ri'yaan and a secret shared between them they were also special to him. Kevin knew that he was betraying that secret now, though, and even if he explained he didn't think Fruki would understand. It would be as it was with Frida when he had told her about the sabrecats. Such things the Khajiit had taught him, and he understood in his heart, but when spoken to a Nord they suddenly became nonsense. And Kevin thought he could endure that when it came to Marash's yarns. But Ri'yaan's tale about the Moons was on its own special and important, and shared between the two of them, and he could not stand to see it made less.

The thought alone made Kevin's stomach ache.

"They...just are," Kevin said with a self-conscious shrug, hoping she would drop the matter.

And Kevin wished desperately then that he hadn't brought her there, but he didn't know what he could now do about it. Asking her to leave would only make Fruki angry. He had already abandoned her once in favor of the Khajiit when he had run away from their game the day before, and he didn't know if he did so again whether she would forgive him.

Fruki, though, seemed to have noticed the sudden sharp turn in his mood, and possibly even felt sorry for having caused it, though she would not know how she had.

"Can...can I have one then?" she asked.

And though a part of him wanted very badly to say no, more than anything Kevin was just happy to find her willing to try.

"I guess you can have one," he said reluctantly. "Because you're my friend."

In Dawnstar she was really the only friend he had.

Slowly, and with all the respect he silently felt the _je'm'ath_ was due, Kevin lifted one of the sweets from the box and unwrapped it, handing it to Fruki. She smiled as she took it from him. Almost as an afterthought he unwrapped one for himself also, because he thought he might as well.

"They're a beautiful color," Fruki said, looking at hers. "What do they taste like?"

"Uh," Kevin stopped to think, wary of making the same mistake Ri'yaan had in defining the flavor. "Kind of like snowberries. Only more sour. Kind of."

Fruki crinkled her nose a bit at that description, but cautiously she place the candy in her mouth. Kevin did the same. He watched her test it on her tongue for a moment, moving it around, before quickly spitting it out into her palm.

"It's good, but it feels strange," she said, "like there's ants on my tongue."

Kevin had to smile.

"It's supposed to," he told her, his own candy clicking against his teeth. "It's better once your whole mouth feels like that."

Reassured, Fruki put the candy back in her mouth, licking the stickiness from her hand.

They spent some time looking through his books after that. Fruki was better at the riddles than he was, but it soon became difficult for her to focus on them as the _je'm'ath_ left her feeling light and drowsy. Though it was not yet even close to nightfall, she told him she was feeling tired, and so reluctantly Kevin offered to walk her back home as he had promised.

Men often had difficulty interpreting the expressions of Khajiit, but time and familiarity had ensured it was a problem Kevin and his mother never had. Kevin caught Ri'yaan's look of surprise as he and Fruki exited the tent together, and realized that if the Khajiit were only now through with his business with the mine owner, he probably hadn't realized that Kevin had returned. There was a disquiet there as well, and what may have been sadness before the feeling he saw appeared to resolve itself into something more approving and well pleased—

Which was quite how Kevin's mother had seemed when first he had begun spending time with Fruki, though he never had understood why.

Though Kevin would have liked to go to him and introduce Fruki properly before going, he was wise enough to keep his distance. The senses of all Khajiit were keen, and he knew that if they went close enough Ri'yaan would catch the scent of orange candy and _je'm'ath_, and he would know immediately that Kevin's promise to him had been broken. And though he felt uneasy with the thought of keeping his betrayal hidden, Kevin dreaded Ri'yaan's disappointment in him even more.

From afar Kevin offered his reassurances that he would be back well before dark, and ushered Fruki back toward Dawnstar.

It should have been a short and simple journey, for Fruki's home was just at the edge of town and very close by, but the _je'm'ath_ had made both of them somewhat sluggish. Indeed, Fruki's steps had turned heavy and her pace uneven. As they walked, Kevin soon found her hanging onto him, and once or twice he had been forced to rescue her balance from an unsteady wobble. They were within sight of the town when Kevin truly became concerned, for though the _je'm'ath_ normally left him feeling warm when few other things did, beside him Fruki was shivering. Then, quite suddenly, Fruki stopped in her tracks, and her legs folded slowly under until she was resting on her knees.

"Fruki?" Kevin asked her, worry in his voice. At first she didn't answer. "Fruki? Are you okay?"

"Kev...I don't feel good," she said slowly, with a frown.

Then Fruki leaned forward and vomited in the snow. Alarmed, Kevin spoke her name again.

"Fruki?"

"A little better," Fruki mumbled just then, closing her eyes.

And Kevin certainly couldn't fool himself anymore. Something was wrong.

"Come on, up," Kevin said urgently, pulling Fruki's arm. "We need to get you home..."

When Fruki barely reacted to his urging, Kevin pulled her arm over his shoulders, and did the best he could to drag her to her feet.

As they drew closer to town, they caught the eye of Fruki's father, who was outside chopping wood for the night's fire. Dropping his axe he came rushing up to meet him.

"What is it, boy?" her father asked him anxiously. "What's happened?"

"I don't know, sir," Kevin said as Fruki's father lifted her up into his arms. "We were walking together when she just got sick."

"I will take her to Frida," the man said, nodding to their home. "Go and get her mother. Tell her to meet us inside."

Kevin nodded, and went obediently.

By the time they arrived at the Mortar and Pestle, Fruki's father had lain her in Frida's bed upstairs for the old healer to examine. Kevin was relieved to see Fruki awake, responding to Frida's words and her touch, though just barely.

Kevin watched as Frida examined the girl, looking closely at her eyes, and feeling her hands.

"Her temperature is down and the centers of her eyes contracted," Frida said. She shook her head with a frown. "If it came on as sudden as you say then it's likely not an illness, I'm afraid, but some form of poisoning. Fruki, have you eaten anything today?"

Her words froze Kevin deeply, leaving him dry-mouthed with shock. Yet Fruki was just aware enough to answer.

"Sweets," she said softly, her voice quiet and weak. "Kevin's. From the caravan."

Frida stilled, and when her attention turned to Kevin, her expression was almost impossible to read. Fruki's parents, too, turned their eyes upon him. Her mother's were accusing and full of hate, as if she looked upon something disgusting. In that moment Kevin almost wished he would die.

After far too long the scrutiny was finally broken, the voice of Fruki's mother tight and angry as she spoke to her husband.

"Go and fetch the guard," she said.

And without a word, Fruki's father went.

A tense beat passed and none of them moved, nor hardly even breathed. Then Frida stood, retrieving a small red bottle from one of the shelves. This she handed to Fruki's mother.

"Make her drink this," Frida said. "It will help her fight off the effects of what ails her. I will take the boy downstairs and speak with him."

Fruki's mother seemed at first as if she might argue, but care for her daughter soon had her dismissing Kevin from her thought's entirely.

Kevin didn't want to go, not while Fruki might still be in danger, but once Frida's hand lay upon his shoulder he felt he had little choice. They descended the steps and she led him behind the counter, to the corner on the far side of her shop. She guided him to her stool and made him sit, kneeling down carefully so that she could look him in the eye. She examined him briefly as she had done Fruki, raising his chin to look at his eyes, and she felt his forehead and cheeks with her hand. At once she frowned deeply.

"Where did you get the sweets Fruki spoke of?" Frida asked him slowly.

Her voice, though calm, was dangerously serious. Kevin was so scared at first that he could not speak. She sighed at this failure, and he was forced to turn his eyes away.

"Kevin, Fruki's father will be coming back any minute with the Jarl's men," Frida said, very carefully, "and when they come and ask what's happened, I cannot lie to them."

She reached out just then and firmly squeezed his hand.

"But I know you are a very smart boy," she continued. "At _least_ smart enough to know what could happen to your friends at the caravan if rumor were spread that Khajiit had given sweets to Nord children that were laced with moon sugar."

And the still urgency in the words, as well as his own shock finally forced him to stare back.

"I won't make you tell me what happened," Frida told him, her gaze searching in spite of her words, "but when those guards arrive I want you to be very, very careful about the answers you give them."

She said no more after that, returning upstairs to Fruki and leaving Kevin there as they awaited the rest. Kevin's heart was beating so rapidly with fear that he felt dizzy, and his stomach was tight. Or perhaps, he thought, part of that was the _je'm'ath—_

_Moon sugar_, he now realized with horror.

Kevin knew of it, of course. Moon sugar and skooma were the poisons of which Fruki herself had spoken only yesterday—ignorant words, he had thought then, to which he had so firmly refused to listen.

Years ago, when Kevin had grown aware of the mistrust the townsfolk felt toward the Khajiit, he had of course begun to ask why. And it had seemed each person in Dawnstar carried their own list of reasons. For some it was the sheer strangeness of all beast-folk, for others their reputation for theft, while for others still it was for fear of Thalmor spies. But many more had spoken of the Khajiit as peddlers of filth and petty evils—which Kevin at the time had hardly understood. But as always where the Khajiit were concerned, he had refused to accept the first answer given—or the second or third—at face value.

And he had taken his questions to Ri'yaan, as he had always done, only to have the Khajiit turn anxious and point him toward his mother instead.

Kevin had been confused, and to this day still did not understand why, but he had taken his questions to his mother as he was told. Sigun had frowned to hear them, but in the end she had explained. Moon sugar, she had told him, and skooma which was made from it were dangerous medicines the use of which the Khajiit were reputed for. And she had been adamant in her warnings that he was never to touch either one.

Of course, he had not understood then why he ever would.

Earlier this past spring, a ship from Solitude had docked in the harbor carrying lumber and grain bound for Solstheim. Late into that night, Kevin had awoken when one of the sailors had come to their home. Kevin had never seen an Orc before, though he had heard of them, yet even so Kevin could tell that something about him was wrong. Orc-kind were widely known for their strength and hardiness, yet the man who appeared at their door had been very thin, almost sickly, and had spoken to Kevin's mother in the tone of someone begging. And though Kevin could easily read his mother's pity for the wretched thing, still she had been quite angry as she turned him away.

Come morning, Kevin learned that the whole thing had been a cruel jest played on all of them—that when one of the local fishermen had heard the Orc asking around for skooma, he had mentioned Sigun's friendship with the Khajiit, suggesting her as a source. Yet even more than his mother's embarrassment and her outrage, Kevin vividly remembered the Orc's humiliation and shame, and the hostility and ridicule he had faced from both the townsfolk and his fellows. Indeed, his captain had made overtures that they might leave him behind—

A notion turned aside by nothing less than the Jarl's insistence that Dawnstar did not want him.

After the sailors had gone, Kevin had asked his mother about it—how the Orc could have wanted the skooma so much when it made people hate him that badly. And it seemed he had at last found the right question, for his mother had finally explained the true danger of such things as skooma and moon sugar. At first they made a person feel good, she said, but they would need more and more to feel that way, until finally they would get sick without it. It was a sickness, she had warned him, that could not be cured if the victim did not want it, and for those like the Orcish sailor—who were so far lost to the illness that they often did not—there was little they could do but extend their pity.

And as he waited in Frida's shop for the Jarl's men to arrive, Kevin felt very ill remembering— And frightened. And hurt. And _betrayed_. For he could not for the life of him fathom why Ri'yaan would have deceived him for so long the way he had.

Yet fear soon drove the question from his mind, for when Fruki's father returned not only did several of the guard accompany him, but so did Jarl Skald the Elder himself.

Kevin had always been quite afraid of Skald. Though there hadn't been much occasion for him to have contact with the Jarl personally, Kevin had accompanied his mother when she attended the yearly Holdsmoot at the White Hall, and seen him pass judgment on wrongdoings on behalf of Dawnstar and the Pale. He had also heard the townsfolk speaking over drink at the inn. Kevin knew the Jarl had always been quite vocal in his belief that Skyrim belonged to the Nords alone, and that others were unwelcome. Like many, Skald looked down on Kevin's mother for her marriage to a Breton, and for his own sin of having a father who was not a Nord, he regarded Kevin with open disdain.

Indeed, he looked at Kevin that way now.

"Ah, my lord Jarl," Frida greeted suddenly as she descended the stair. "I would the occasion for your visit were such that I might welcome you warmly, but sadly it is not so."

Skald offered Frida a shallow nod in acknowledgment.

"Frida. I've been told some very strange things which beggar my belief. Could you explain to me what in Talos' name is happening here?"

"I'm afraid, Jarl, that I've had my hands too long tied with the poor girl upstairs to get that story," Frida hedged neatly. "Though I briefly tried, the boy did not seem ready to speak."

Her eyes met Kevin's meaningfully for a few seconds, reminding him of her earlier words, and weighing them he saw the doom at which she had only hinted. For Kevin had heard folks speak openly against Ri'yaan's people only too often. Idle, though alarmingly _graphic_, threats were frequently expressed with little thought—sometimes when the Khajiit could even hear them—and for no greater provocation than the caravan simply being there. If blame in this should fall upon the Khajiit, the Jarl would seek their banishment from Dawnstar forever, or have them imprisoned—

Or worse. _Far_ worse.

Though anger burned in his heart for Ri'yaan's bewildering lies, still Kevin knew he could not doom him to that. Whatever Ri'yaan's reasons, Kevin had broken his own promise. Though the Khajiit trader bore fault in what had happened, Kevin knew that the true guilt for Fruki's involvement was his own. Whatever the punishment, _he_ must be the one to bear it.

And when the Jarl's eyes narrowed on him expectantly, he knew what he had to do.

"I— I gave Fruki some candy, and it made her sick," Kevin told the Jarl, trembling with fear he did not have to feign in the least. "They belonged to the Khajiit. I...I didn't know what they were when I took them."

Skald frowned.

"Stole them, you mean?" the Jarl asked stonily.

"I..."

And for a moment Kevin hesitated. But though few things could be worse than branding himself a thief, Kevin knew that seeing harm come to the Khajiit was certainly one of them.

"Yes, sir," he said finally.

Though Kevin would never have imagined it possible, at his admission Skald's demeanor turned even colder. And as if to prove that even now things could still grow worse, Kevin's mother arrived just then.

"What is going on?" Sigun asked.

She sounded almost as if she were preparing to be angered in advance.

"You should be more cautious, Sigun, in letting your son spend his time with animals," the Jarl said. "He's begun to learn some of their worst habits. One of the miner's daughters has been poisoned with Khajiit filth your son stole from their caravan."

The blood drained from his mother's face as Kevin watched, and she turned to stare at him in shock. For a moment, she was speechless.

"Kevin," she asked him finally, "is this true?"

And with the Jarl and his men still listening Kevin could not explain himself to her, so instead he was forced to look away.

"You may take your daughter home tonight," Frida interrupted, speaking to Fruki's father. "See that she eats well and gets plenty of water, and if she feels she must be sick again then it may be best to let her. Though she might still be weak, she should otherwise be well by tomorrow."

With a nod, Fruki's father climbed up the stairs to get her. He came down with Fruki in his arms, and the girl's mother hovering by his side. And though her husband departed silently, she yet waited.

"For his own sake, I'd best not catch that son of yours even _speaking_ to my daughter again, Sigun," she said angrily. "So help me, if he does, I won't be responsible for what I'll do to him."

And then she was gone as well.

"Those mangy cats bring nothing but trouble," Skald said irritably. "Every year, I ask myself why I don't ban them from the Pale altogether. Given the choice, I'd as soon skin the beasts on sheer principal."

"And yet every year, I'm sure, you're reminded why," his mother countered coolly.

"Hn. They bring my folk some profit with their coming," Skald acknowledged, though not without a sneer. "But when it leads to incidents such as this, it hardly feels worth it."

"What would you have me do then, my lord Jarl?" Sigun asked of him blandly.

For ever when there were problems with the Khajiit, real or contrived, it was always his mother that folk looked to—even those who prospered from their business with the Khajiit would often not address them otherwise, given the choice.

"Tell them they must leave at once," Skald told her, simply. "They must break camp at dawn, and if they are not gone by midday, Sigun, then by Talos and all of the Divines I will see a new _rug_ decorating my hall."

"I will tell them," his mother said. And Kevin thought he could hear her own disdain for the Jarl, though she hid it very well. "And my son? What is his punishment to be?"

Skald spared him only a glance as he considered a moment, waving a hand dismissively.

"That will be yours to decide," the Jarl said indifferently. "What happened to the girl was unfortunate, but unless her mother comes to demand satisfaction for the accident at the next Holdsmoot there is little I might do. As for the thieving... Had he stolen from one of my subjects, I would be of a mind to punish him for it, and harshly, so let that be a warning that this behavior not repeat. But the Khajiit are none of mine, Talos be thanked, and I won't punish a child whose theft was only from those who are thieves themselves."

"I see, my lord," Sigun said, as tepidly as any words Kevin had ever heard spoken.

And with that Skald beckoned his guards and left them—Sigun, Kevin, and Frida—standing alone in the shop, in silence.

"Kevin," his mother said, and she spoke slowly, hardly looking at him, "I want you to go home and stay there. Wait for me."

Kevin was so confused and frightened, and there were things he badly needed to say, but his mother's even tone left no room for argument. Yet as the door closed behind him, though his home was only feet away, he just couldn't bring himself to move the distance. He sat instead on the front step of Frida's shop, arms held tight around his chest against the cold and his own hurt as he waited. And though it had not been his intent to listen, with his head at rest against the door Kevin heard his mother and the healer speaking all the same.

"Is it really true what Skald has said?" Kevin's mother asked.

Her voice was audibly hesitant, as though she feared the answer.

"It is, I'm afraid," Frida told her, gently, "though I suspect there's more to the story than that. Kevin claims not to have known the sweets were drugged, and that much I believe. It is where and how he got them that must be our concern."

Silence fell between them in which understanding seemed unspoken, though his mother soon broke it with a shuddered sigh.

"_Moon sugar_..." Sigun said, as if she could not believe it. "Frida... Have I been wrong letting him spend time among Ri'yaan and his people all these years?"

Frida was slow to answer, and delivered her words delicately.

"Such questions might be better asked once you have all the facts, Sigun," Frida cautioned. "Once you sort this out with Ri'yaan, then you may worry about your son."

Though muffled by the door, Kevin heard his mother release a faint laugh.

"I will always worry, Frida," she said. "I've spent so much of his childhood holding on as tightly as I could that I too often fear letting go. You know his father and I agreed long ago that when Kevin is old enough, if he chooses to go, then Ri'yaan would take him south for a time. But he's growing up so much faster than I'd expected, Frida—so fast it hardly seems fair. I can't imagine what I'll do if he doesn't choose me."

"You mustn't think of it that way," Frida said. "It is not you or his father that he will be choosing but _himself_. Whatever his choice, Sigun, Kevin _loves_ you, and he will always be your son."

Whatever more was said, however, Kevin didn't hear it, for it was at that moment that the fell prey to ambush.

He was dragged through the snow and mud by his clothing for several feet before he managed to right himself and break loose. His attackers had managed to encircle him, however, and he therefore could not escape. Hjalfi was one of them, which was no surprise, nor Bulfrek who stood to Kevin's right. Lond he was surprised to see, though he supposed if he thought about it he shouldn't be. The boy was Fruki's cousin, after all, and his older brother, Jod, was one of Skald's personal guard, from whom he had no doubt learned of events. The fourth was Irgnir, an older girl of Hjalfi's age. Kevin did not know her well, save that she sometimes played with Fruki.

Kevin knew exactly why they had come, and in his sadness and guilt he was prepared not to fight it.

Lond gave him a shove that sent him toppling over onto his side in the mud, and Hjalfi kicked slush into his face.

"What happened, Honeymilk?" Irgnir said tartly. "Did you get confused, or were you just so bad at being a Nord you tried being a Khajiit instead?"

"He sure knows how to steal like one," Hjalfi taunted.

"Honeymilk?" Bulfrek said. "More like _Sugar Boy_."

In spite of his determination to take their punishments silently, Kevin cringed.

"Hah! Sugar Boy!" Hjalfi repeated delightedly. "You gonna steal us some moon sugar, Sugar Boy?"

Kevin heard Hjalfi move behind him, and soon found himself being dragged to his feet. He might have expected to be thrown down again, but instead Skald's son pulled his arms behind him, holding him firmly in place, and turned him to face Lond. Seeing in the boy's anger what was about to happen, finally Kevin tried to struggle, but it was no use.

"Go ahead, Lond," Hjalfi said.

Lond stared at Kevin a moment, hesitating, though eventually he did draw near, his hand closing into a fist. With Hjalfi holding him in place, Kevin could neither dodge the blow nor block it, so he prepared himself the way Ri'yaan had taught him. He breathed out when the punch came, and hooked his ankle behind Hjalfi's knee so that the momentum sent them falling backwards instead.

Kevin was far from heavy, but still his weight knocked the breath out of the unsuspecting boy, who let go of his arms almost immediately.

Once they hit the ground Kevin rolled clear. Though his stomach ached and it was difficult to breathe, he recovered himself quickly and tried to make a break for it. Irgnir saw the move coming and tried to cut off his escape. Kevin dodged her grab and tripped her, sending her down into the snow at Hjalfi's side. Lond closed in and threw another punch toward Kevin's stomach. This time he was able to block with the outside of his arm, and followed it with a blow to the side of the jaw with the heel of his open hand. Lond dropped down onto his knees clutching his face, and Bulfrek took off running.

Irgnir recovered herself just as Hjalfi also regained his feet. With a tug at the other boy's elbow, she tried to draw him away. Hjalfi didn't listen—instead he charged. And if any of what had happened while he was down had somehow caught his notice, his strategy certainly didn't show it. There was a look of wide-eyed surprise on Hjalfi's face as Kevin ducked his blow, and as the older boy swept past he landed a swift punch beneath Hjalfi's ribs.

Hjalfi landed face down in the snow. Though Kevin heard him moaning, he didn't stick around to watch him get up again.

Kevin's house was not far away, but that was not where he headed. Though he was certain even Hjalfi would think twice about pursuing him inside, the fight had left him soaked and muddy once again. With his mother so disappointed in him, the last thing she deserved was to come home and learn he had been fighting. Unfortunately his last set of dry clothes was still back in the tent at Ri'yaan's camp. Though Kevin wasn't sure he could bear to face the Khajiit right now, his situation left him little choice. With luck, he thought, he might be able to slip in unnoticed.

It was a long shot, but he knew he had to try.

He could not rely on the cover of night to hide him, he knew, for the Khajiit could see in darkness easily as well as a Man could in twilight. Instead he passed the camp before returning through the trees on the far side, keeping the tents between himself and the points where, at this hour, Marash likely kept his watch. Kevin made it to the back of Ri'yaan's tent with apparent success, and listened carefully to make sure that it was empty. Once he was certain, he slowly untied the straps lacing the cover of patched hides to the tent's wooden frame, and soon had a hole opened wide enough for him to creep in.

Sadly, he never got the chance. The sound of voices alerted him to Ri'yaan's approach, and it was with a faint thrill of horror Kevin realized his mother was with him. But though they spoke of him, their concern was for the incident in town—the Jarl and the townsfolk, and the danger both might represent. Kevin thought it likely his mother had just missed his fight with the children from town—she had to have come here straight from Frida's, and so probably still believed he had gone home as she had asked.

Kevin was forced to abandon his plans as Ri'yaan and his mother entered the tent. Instead he let the corner he had loosened fall and waited. And as their talk soon turned toward topics more personal, Kevin could not help but listen in.

"You are wanting to talk about what happened," Ri'yaan interrupted suddenly. He sounded resigned. "Do so."

Kevin's mother took a moment, seeming to collect herself some before speaking.

"You've placed me in a difficult position, Ri'yaan," Sigun said. "I must either accept that my son has begun thieving or that he's been keeping secrets from me, and I don't like either one. Though I'd almost rather believe Kevin _was_ a thief than believe the other, because it would mean you were also keeping secrets, when you _swore_ to me that you would never do so again."

And her voice carried a fragile edge to it that Kevin in all his life had never heard from his mother before.

"Which is it, Ri'yaan?" she prodded, the tone of hurt making her sound very tired.

Ri'yaan did not answer right away, and when he did his voice was soft, and with the campfire light casting his shadow across the tent, Kevin saw him hang his head.

"Kevin is no thief," Ri'yaan admitted, quietly. "The fault is mine."

Kevin's mother took a slow breath before speaking again.

"I've always been open to you teaching him about your people, Ri'yaan," she said, "but it was always because I thought I could _trust_ you—"

"_Trust_," Ri'yaan interrupted suddenly, releasing a weary snort. "You hold no trust for Ri'yaan. You speak always of your forgiveness of him, yet at times it is as if you had never done."

A beat passed, Ri'yaan shaking his head silently.

"If you trusted," Ri'yaan said, speaking tensely, "then the boy would know by now whose son he is."

And Kevin thought his words made little sense, but his mother in turn was silent for a time.

"I know I've hurt him by hiding the truth," his mother said regretfully. "I just wish—"

Ri'yaan chuffed bitterly at her words.

"Do not speak to Ri'yaan of wishes," the Khajiit said. Sighing wearily, he lifted a hand to her cheek. "Ri'yaan would give anything to undo his mistakes, _a'ahn rabiba_, but he has learned his lesson about wishes. And what is it you would wish? To give him another father would be to change him, Sigi. If his father had truly been a Breton—or a Nord, or an Imperial—he would not be who he is."

And suddenly Kevin could not breathe, and though he remained very still his heart was hammering.

"I wouldn't change one bit of him, Ri'yaan, and you know it," Sigun said, with a tone that was bittersweet.

"Then that much we two still agree upon," Ri'yaan told her, "and as always it must be enough."

"I so badly want to be able to trust you, Ri'yaan," Sigun said, lifting her hand to draw his away from her face. "But after the way you betrayed me— And now _Kevin_. Giving him _moon sugar_—and without telling him what it was? How could you _do_ that to him?"

The anger had returned to her voice. Ri'yaan turned away from it, his ears flattening.

"He knew and did not know," Ri'yaan said slowly. "The word in _Ta'agra_ is _je'm'ath_, and the boy was taught what that _really_ is, not what the profane abuses of sugar-tooths and the unclawed have made it to be. And Ri'yaan regrets deceiving him, Sigun, but he knew that if Kevin ever told you would never allow it."

"How _could_ I?" Sigun objected, horrified. "It's dangerous—"

"Is not your faith also dangerous?" Ri'yaan asked her suddenly.

The words seemed to confuse her into silence, and after a moment Ri'yaan took the opening to explain.

"The worship of Talos is outlawed," he said quietly, "and yet still you do so, in secret. And you raise the boy to do so as well. Ri'yaan's faith is also outlawed outside his homeland by those who fear the holy sugar. And so he shares his faith only in secret, knowing you would not understand."

And Kevin could all but hear in Ri'yaan's voice how much he wished that she did.

"In Elsweyr," Ri'yaan continued, "_je'm'ath_ is in foods everywhere. In cooking it loses potency, and children there take no harm from it—"

"It was potent enough to harm Fruki," his mother said.

Ri'yaan released a faint breath.

"That is different, Sigun," Ri'yaan said slowly. "_Kevin_ is different, and you know it."

And when she did not speak, Ri'yaan reached out to her again, taking hold of her hands.

"You know that," Ri'yaan said, his words an aching whisper, "and when you are not angry you also know that Ri'yaan would do _nothing_ he thought might harm our son."

Whatever her response to this Kevin was not to know, for at that moment his skulking was discovered.

Strong, furred arms closed around him, lifting him off his feet to carry him around to the front of the tent. Though Kevin struggled it was useless—he was at Marash's mercy until the Khajiit set him down on his feet near the fire.

"Ri'yaan," Marash called, humor in his voice, "look what Marash has caught."

Ri'yaan and his mother exited the tent at Marash's call, and both looked stunned to see him standing there.

"_Ohra ja'khajiit m'dariit vabazeri_," Marash said to his comrade, thumping Kevin on the back proudly so that he almost toppled over. "_Ahn Khajiit vasa jijri_."

After a startled moment, Ri'yaan let out an irritated hiss.

"_Tss!_ _Gzalziit!_"

In spite of the insult, Marash merely grinned.

"Go, Marash," Ri'yaan ordered sharply, "and attend your watch more closely. The Nords may yet seek to send us trouble before the morning."

And though there was real danger in the threats Ri'yaan spoke of, Marash walked off laughing. Yet still the guard's words echoed in Kevin's head, for he knew just enough of _Ta'agra_ to understand. "_Ja'khajiit_" meant "cub" or "kitten", and unlike "_ja'ahn_" it was not used for the children of elves or Men...

And "_vasa jijri_" meant "under the skin".

Ri'yaan and his mother both watched him uncertainly—no doubt they both were wondering how much he might have heard. His mother spoke his name softly, but Kevin could not go to her—the hurt inside him bit too deep. The two people he had thought he could always trust had _both_ been lying to him all his life—

He simply could not face it.

There was no point at which he decided to run, it simply happened, and there was not thought enough left in him to care where he was going—though perhaps just care enough that he did not head out into the woods alone. Indeed, he soon found himself at the edge of town once again and stopped at the sight, not knowing where from there he should go. The cold night air and the dampness of his clothes had begun to steal the heat from his body, and breathless after his flight from the caravan the chill left his lungs aching. But he would not go home where his mother might seek him, and he could not go back to the camp...

There was only one left in Dawnstar that might still welcome him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Divines, child, what _have_ you been up to since you left?" Frida managed after a blank beat of surprise when she opened her door to him. "You're supposed to be at home with your mother."

Kevin would have answered her more promptly, but his teeth had started chattering, and so with an exasperated sound she quickly ushered him inside. She left him standing in front of the fire in the shop and went upstairs to fetch a blanket. She draped it around his shoulders and he sat down on the floor before the fire, huddled beneath it. Frida waited as he warmed enough for his shaking limbs to settle before asking him once again.

"What's happened, boy?" she asked him. "What brings you back here tonight?"

And Kevin didn't know at first what to say—how to address any of the questions buzzing frantically in his mind. She must have read his confusion, even without knowing its cause, for still she waited, patiently.

"I– I wanted to ask about Fruki," Kevin finally said.

For it was as good a place as any for him to start.

"What happened to her?" he asked. "Was...was there really moon sugar in the sweets I gave her?"

"There was, I'm afraid," Frida said, nodding solemnly.

"How did you know?" Kevin asked her. "And why did it make her sick?"

Frida seemed to weigh his question carefully, moving to bring her stool near the fire so that she could sit beside him.

"I could tell by the effects it had on her...and you," Frida said, slowly. "There are many substances which have effects on the body, and my craft as an alchemist is based in knowing them. Between her symptoms, and yours, and the circumstances, there were few other things it was likely to be."

Kevin didn't know what symptoms he might have shown that she could have noticed. He tried not to think about it.

"Is she really going to be alright?" Kevin asked instead.

"I'm certain she will," Frida reassured him. "In time she will be as well as ever, have no fear of that."

"But my mother says there's a sickness..." Kevin said. "One that doesn't go away."

Frida seemed confused for a moment, though understanding soon came to her and she shook her head.

"Addiction, you mean," she said. "It can happen, but in a single incident such as this it is unlikely. You needn't worry...not for Fruki's sake, at least."

There was half a question in her words, and Kevin pulled the blanket tighter around him. Yet it seemed she may have gleaned some piece of an answer, for Frida watched him a moment in silence, her expression thoughtful as she seemed to dissect his.

"Moon sugar is a rather potent drug," Frida said finally, breaking her silence, "though it pales beside the scourge which is made from it. Skooma is a deadly danger to all the races, poisoning both mind and body of any who touch it, but moon sugar carries barely half the risk..."

"Though," said Frida, "I've also been told that it doesn't effect the Khajiit quite the way it effects elves or Men."

And the words were said easily enough that they might have been simple trivia, but she watched his reaction sharply.

"That's why, isn't it?" Kevin asked her finally, his voice small. "That's why Fruki got sick and I never did. Because I'm—"

But he could not say it, for he could not understand how it was possible. Yet Frida confirmed it, first with a nod and then her words.

"Because you are Ri'yaan's son," she said.

"I– I don't understand..." Kevin managed weakly.

Because none of it made any sense. He was _human—_

Wasn't he?

The confusion and hurt of his mother's and Ri'yaan's betrayal—of his _parents'_ betrayal—was finally catching up to him. Frightened and uncertain, he found himself fighting tears. And Frida wasn't the most motherly of women despite having been a mother years ago, but still her arm found its way around him, drawing him close.

"Come, child," she said softly. "You enjoy stories, yes? Hush a moment, for I have one to tell you."

Looking up into the old healer's face, Kevin saw her offer a faint but reassuring smile.

"A long time ago," Frida began, "it must have been, I think, fifteen years ago at least—a caravan of Khajiit came to our town. Back then, before the war, that wasn't as a rare thing as it is these days, but though the Khajiit hadn't yet been barred from the cities, neither were they quite welcomed or trusted. So when they arrived with one of their number badly in need of healing, there were many in Dawnstar who wanted them to continue on their way. "

Frida smiled a thin smile at the memory.

"It was the beginning of winter, you see—for in the days before the safety of the cities was shut to them the Khajiit came and went during all times of the year—and the townsfolk worried that if the caravan lingered they might be trapped in Dawnstar by the coming snows. Indeed, I was urged by many to sell them the potions they would need and hurry them on their way. But the wound was on the verge of spoiling, and I knew that without proper care the young Khajiit would lose his leg, if not his life..."

"And though I was quite leery of the cat-folk in those days," Frida said, "unnecessary suffering was something I never could abide. So, leaving the well-being of the townsfolk in the hands of my husband, I agreed to accompany the caravan to Solitude, where they hoped to find a ship that might carry them home. But though I was haler and stronger in those days, I still was no young woman, and so, Divines bless her, my neighbors' young daughter volunteered to go with me—"

When Frida paused then, looking at him, it was to smile a genuine smile.

"That was your mother, of course," she said. "Sigun has always honored all of the Divines—including Talos, as a good Nord should—but never was there a better example of Mara's love and her compassion than your mother. I believe she was only sixteen at the time. But while our travels were difficult, as travels always are in winter, though she had yet to earn her kenning she was steadfast even then. And what a boon she was...for the injured one, J'yaan, wasn't much older than she. Indeed, her kindness might have done as much for him as my care ever did."

And Kevin drew himself up slightly, paying close attention, for he knew that J'yaan would have been Ri'yaan's name as a young Khajiit, before he had earned his current standing.

"After the Khajiit found their passage back to Pelletine," Frida continued, "Sigun and I spent the winter in Solitude, then stayed in Morthal for the start of spring until the ice could melt and the roads back home become safe again. And Sigun loved the capital—the warmth and the color and the activity of its people—but though it was a pleasant adventure she was glad to come home to her family. And that was the end of it, as far as we all knew, and for most the incident was soon forgotten."

Frida paused for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice had shifted slightly. Where before her words had been distant, almost soft with remembering, they became stronger, more direct, and she turned to look at him once more.

"Now this part of the story I'm sure you know well," she said, "for it is _your_ story. Indeed, there likely isn't a nosy soul living in Dawnstar that doesn't know it. Three years after that winter ended, a young trader came by ship from the southern parts of the Empire—a Breton by blood, whose name was Ian Peltienne."

Kevin recognized the name, of course—it belong to the man who, for all his life, he had believed to be his father.

"Ian stayed here for several months arranging contracts with the owner of the quicksilver mine," Frida told him, "but once his dealings were finished he stayed, for he had become so enchanted with Sigun that he simply could not leave. And Ian...was a very strange young man, but he was a kind one, clever and handsome, and soon your mother felt the very same way about him."

"They were married at the end of that year," Frida said, "and for the next two years they lived together as happily as any man and woman ever did... But the part which most do not know begins—for myself and for Sigun, at least—the night that you were born."

The lines on her brow knotted briefly, as if even now the memory of that night were still too much for her to believe.

"Your mother's pregnancy was a difficult one, especially in the beginning," Frida told him, "and there was fear that you would not survive. And expecting fathers always worry, so no one questioned Ian's nervousness as the time for your arrival grew near..."

Frida paused then, frowning for a moment as she looked at him, seeming to weigh her words very carefully.

"I have delivered many children to the mothers of Dawnstar," Frida said at last, "and it's treated me to more unexpected surprises than you might imagine. But none will ever equal the shock I felt upon delivering a human woman of a furred and squalling cub. Nor, I imagine, could anything match Sigun's alarm or her horror. For neither of us could understand how what we were seeing was possible, and above all else your mother feared what Ian might think of her..."

Seeing Kevin's distress, Frida gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"But your father, Kevin..." Frida said, very softly. "Your father loved you from the moment he laid eyes on you, because to _him_ you were perfect. He loved you so very much, and he was happy...even though he knew that his perfect son had cost him the woman he loved."

"What your father confessed to us that night," continued Frida, "was that _he_ was J'yaan—that Ian Peltienne and the young Khajiit your mother had befriended were one and the same. And he told us how, years ago, he had been so moved by your mother's kind heart that, in spite of her strangeness, he had fallen deeply in love with her. Yet even though he knew that his courtship would never be welcomed, nor his love ever returned as he wanted it, even once he had returned home to Torval it would not let him be. And it had burned within him with a strength that had driven him toward madness and despair..."

"But," Frida said slowly, "it was not Sheogorath who was drawn by the call of his hopeless desires, but another Daedric Prince entirely."

Then Frida shook him slightly to rouse his attention.

"In the stories he's told you," Frida asked him, "has Ri'yaan ever said anything about Clavicus Vile?"

Still absorbed in the enormity of all she had told him, at first Kevin could not speak.

"He...he grants wishes," Kevin finally said, his thoughts slow coming together. "Only...they're cruel tricks to snare the foolish, and always turn against them in the end."

Frida gave an unhappy, though satisfied nod.

"And that is the truth," she said, "for your father wanted the chance to make your mother his own so badly that he sought out the Prince of Trickery, and he struck a dangerous bargain. He was charged with completing some task in our mortal world on the Daedra's behalf—and I have never asked what that was, for it is not my place to ask—and in return your father was granted the Ornament of Clavicus Vile."

And Kevin did not draw it out or look at it, for he could not bring himself to touch it, but he knew for certain that she spoke of the very same amulet which hung around his neck.

"The Ornament," Frida told him, "grants its wearer the command of a powerful alteration which can fool all of the senses, but which is only skin-deep. And J'yaan finally had his chance to win your mother's heart, for with its power he was able to pose as a Man. But in spite of the transformation granted by the Ornament, he knew he would never convincingly pass as a Nord in Skyrim, and so he chose to present himself as a Breton instead."

"J'yaan sold every possession he had in Torval," Frida said solemnly, "collected upon every favor he was owed, and finally returned to Dawnstar as Ian Peltienne. And for the two years he and Sigun lived as man and wife he believed he had escaped the fate of so many of Vile's followers, and that his story might end happily. But it is no secret that Clavicus Vile delights in making his followers suffer for the gifts he grants them, and that he enjoys drawing out the cruel consequences of his bargains to last for as long as possible. And I have no doubt that prideful self-deception such as your father knew only makes it that much sweeter for the Daedra once the catch is finally revealed..."

"And it sounds cruel to say that you were that catch, Kevin," Frida told him gently, "but it would seem to be the case. Though the disguise granted by the Ornament is nearly foolproof, it could never truly change what your father was. And though elves can bear or father children to Men, and either one can do so with Orc-kind, however rare, a half-breed of Khajiit stock is something which, to my knowledge, the world has never seen."

"Your father had believed it impossible," she said gravely, "and that part of the price he had paid for his love was that he and Sigun would never have children of their own. That failing was one of the few things about which he had been honest, and so when she conceived it had seemed like a miracle. But your father always suspected that your birth was a result of Vile's trickery, for it was your arrival that ultimately exposed his deceptions, and which drove him to make the hardest choice he had ever had to make..."

"I think you understand already—and more than most—how ignorant and cruel people can be," Frida said sadly. "Your father knew this as well. And he understood that to continue to hide what he was from the townsfolk would be to ruin your mother's reputation—she would have been labeled an adulteress, and worse. Yet even revealing the truth to the people of Dawnstar would mean dooming both her and you to even greater ridicule than you now suffer. And either way, Sigun would likely have been forced to flee her home, leaving her parents, who were still living then, and everything else she knew behind. He knew there was only one chance for you—for any of you—to live in peace. And that was for him to give up the Ornament to _you_, so that your mother could raise you here...as a human boy."

"And so it was that on the very night his son was born, Ian Peltienne left Dawnstar forever, and when the morning came and Sigun showed you off to her parents you were _her_ perfect son at last. And with the next summer it was J'yaan who returned to us, delivering tidings..."

"And so it has been ever since," Frida finished, sadly.

Kevin had long ago lost his silent battle, so that the tears which had lurked so long unshed finally escaped his eyes. Released from the spell of Frida's account, he began to cry in earnest. For a while she simply let him, and in her silence lent the simple kind of strength he needed. And when finally he began to regain his ragged breath Frida took the corner of the blanket and dried the tears from his cheeks.

"Your family's story is a sad one, Kevin," Frida told him, "full of betrayal and sorrow, and the lies that have resulted have caused all of you a great deal of pain. But now that you know the truth, the one thing that you must remember above all else is how much both of your parents love you. For they always have, and they always will."

And Kevin didn't know if it had been during Frida's tale or while he was crying that he had missed the sound of the door—but he must have, for when a soft sound caught his attention behind him he turned and saw his mother there. There were tears in her own eyes as well, and when they met his she softly spoke his name.

"Kevin...I'm so sorry."

In spite of all the shocks the day had brought him and in spite of his earlier hurt, at that moment Kevin needed her arms around him more than he had needed anything in his life. Leaving the blanket behind on the floor by the hearth he went to her, burying his face against her, and let out a sob as she held him tight. Though his mother and Frida likely exchanged a glance out of his sight, neither of them spoke, nor he. Finally his mother lifted him up, and with a wordless murmur of apology kissed his cheek.

Kevin's mother took him home, and things were silent between them as he changed out of his muddied clothes while she prepared a quick supper. She had brought his things back with her from the caravan—his clothes and bedroll, his books and his daggers, though naturally nothing else. One of those books still held his father's letters pressed inside. His throat stung as he thought about it—the _lie_ of it—for his whole life Kevin had believed in and loved the man who had sent him those letters. A man, he now knew, that did not exist. Ri'yaan must have written them himself, Kevin now realized. He must have been doing so from the very beginning—

Which, in spite of all the lies, meant that they _were_ the truth, in a way.

But Kevin was not ready to think about that just now. He shut the letters and the gifts away in the chest beside his bed, and did his best to forget they were there. And when his mother called him to the table he went quietly. He did not feel like eating, but he knew it would only make his mother worry if he didn't, for under normal circumstances Kevin was almost always hungry...

Of course, once he sat down his stomach rumbled eagerly as if to remind him of that very fact.

Kevin did not speak until after, when his mother was clearing the table. She stilled at the sound of his voice, though only briefly. Kevin thought she had been waiting, but from her faint surprise he didn't think the question he asked was among those she had been expecting. He didn't ask her whether it was all true, for he believed Frida and though her tale sounded impossible it explained far too much for it to simply be another lie. Nor did he ask her why—had he not already, the Jarl's words today had been more than enough for him understand _why_—or why they had not told him sooner. What he asked was far more personal, and—he thought—impossibly more urgent.

"Do...do you still love him?" Kevin asked her, very quietly.

And Kevin deeply, _painfully_ needed to know—because if he could understand that, if she could explain it, then perhaps he would know how he was supposed to feel. Because he was angry at them for their lies, and it hurt more than anything he had ever felt, but there were no two people in his life more important to him than his mother and Ri'yaan. He was angry, but they were all he had, and he loved them, and Kevin didn't know what he should do.

Sigun set the bowls down and drew her chair beside him at the table. She placed her hand over his where he was picking anxiously at a splinter in the table and offered him a sad smile.

"I do," his mother answered softly. "Though there were many times that I wished I didn't—times when I _tried_ not to. And there were even times when I hated him. But while he was away from us, often all I could think about was how much I wished he was still by my side. The Ornament only changes the surface of things, Kevin, and though he lied to me about what he was, and who he had been, all the reasons I had for falling in love with him were still true. And they always will be true, every one of them that mattered, so that I love him still. And I always have, even when I hated him..."

"How did you forgive him?" Kevin asked her. "And why? When you found out he lied...how did you forgive him for that?"

Sigun looked him over slowly, and gently squeezed his hand.

"It took a very long time," his mother admitted, "and sometimes it's still hard. I was so angry with him, and anger is a very difficult thing to forget—and, honestly, I don't feel I should. But I've also had time to weigh the lies he told me against the things that were true, and the mistakes he made against the things he did right. Because he _does_ try to do what's right, Kevin, but sometimes the differences between us make it difficult for it turn out that way."

His mother took a slow breath, her smile turning somewhat brittle though still true.

"You know that Khajiit do not view secrets the way Men do," Sigun said. "So you might understand that your father never knew until his own were revealed how deeply his betrayal would hurt me. It was a harsh lesson for both of us. But though he wronged me, Kevin—and he broke my heart, there is no mistaking that—I know he has suffered more deeply as a result of his lies than I ever have. Because my hurts have had the chance to heal, and as old hurts do sometimes they pain me still, but in all the years that he and I have lived apart I've had _you_ to soothe the ache."

And Kevin had to look away, for he had thought himself long done with crying, but at her words he felt his throat begin to tighten.

"I never tried to punish Ri'yaan for what he did to me," his mother said, "but there really is no punishment I can imagine crueler than what he has endured. Even in my anger I never went so far as to ask him not to return, but there were times I almost wished he _would_ stay away—for his own sake. Leaving us behind broke _his_ heart as well, and though he lives for the joy of seeing us again, each time he is forced to leave it breaks anew. And even when he is with us, there is pain—for every season he has but a short time to have us close, and to know the young man you are becoming. And he could never tell you as your father how much he loved you, and how proud he was of you, and he knew no number of letters would ever be the same to you as hearing those things said."

His mother fell silent a moment, and when he looked up, Kevin saw her staring at the fire.

"You never should have had to learn the way you did," his mother told him with a sigh, "and for that I am to blame. If I had listened to Ri'yaan, we would have told you the truth years ago. He believed you were old enough to understand—old enough to keep a secret. I never did..."

She shook her head, her expression turning a bit wry. A bit pained.

"I don't think I _wanted_ to," Sigun admitted wearily. "Frida tells me all mothers feel pangs of sadness watching their children grow up, but those I feel bite sharper than most. Khajiit live lives comparable to the lives of Men, but their childhoods are much shorter. Because of who your father is—because of _what_ he is—I've had to watch you grow up faster than most human mothers would. It hurts knowing that—sometimes it hurts too much to let myself see it—and so I didn't want to believe that you were ready to know the truth. I didn't want to admit I was that much closer to seeing you leave me."

It was alarming for him to hear her words confirm—subtly, but certainly—just how fundamentally different he was from those around him. Though he supposed he had always sensed it in a vague, nameless sort of way. He was vulnerable to the cold in a way the other children were not. He tired more quickly, was hungry more often, and was nowhere near as strong. Though taller than his age would usually see, he was thin to the point of worry, and it beggared his mother's energy at times to keep him hale, and clothed, and fed. And though he had understood his mixed blood to be the reason, it was hard not to feel defective and wanting when the standards of Nords were all he had to measure himself against. At least as far as humans were concerned...

Yet now it appeared he never should have been measuring himself by human standards at all.

"You have every right to be angry, Kevin," his mother said, then. "It is your right to be angry at both of us for what we've kept from you. But to answer the question you asked..."

Sigun released a faint sigh.

"I forgave your father because I loved him," she said, "and when you love someone you often do forgive them, sometimes even when you probably shouldn't. And I forgave him because he loved _you_, and he always tried to do right by you in his way. And I forgave him because he loved me enough to honor my wishes whenever I made them clear... Or so I had always thought, until now."

She turned quiet a moment, no doubt thinking of the secrets _she_ had uncovered this day.

"Only time will tell whether I find it in me to forgive him again," she said softly. And, turning to look Kevin in the eye she brushed his cheek with her hand. "But he was right about one thing... You are old enough, now. I should have trusted you with the truth."

She dropped her hand with a weary sigh.

"And as angry as _I_ am at the way your father deceived you," she said, still gently though her voice turned rather sharp, "it is no one's place but yours to decide whether you forgive either one of us."

Sleep did not find him easily that night though he tried, wishing as he lay awake in his bed that his thoughts would settle and at last give him rest. His hurt and his anger still gnawed at him, yet in spite of his parents' lies he knew he could not hate them for it. In his heart he hoped to forgive them, and he offered a prayer to Mara, asking for the strength to find that forgiveness within himself.

And he offered a prayer to Stendarr as well, asking him for courage and resolve...

Because now that he knew the truth about the Ornament the chill weight of it felt more oppressive than it ever had. It was a heavy reminder—both of his father's lies, and of the cruelty and power of the being that had forged it—and it sat upon his chest like a stone. He hated it, and thinking about the pain and suffering it had caused his family made Kevin feel almost ill. He wanted nothing so much as to tear the amulet from his neck and throw it as far away from himself as he could...

And yet he did not dare.

His mother had told him long ago that without the amulet both of their lives would change, and now Kevin understood why. To reject the Ornament would be to reject the face and form he had known all his life, and the stable, comfortable life that went with it. For he was well aware that the disregard and petty cruelty he faced at times from the people of Dawnstar paled in comparison to the challenges the Khajiit faced in this land. The cat-folk of Elsweyr were almost universally unwelcome in Skyrim, and without the amulet so was he.

Kevin wondered whether that knowledge ought to frighten him more than it did.

In the dim light thrown by the dying fire, Kev shuffled free of his blankets to stare at his hands. Looking at them, Kevin tried to imagine what they should have looked like. He hadn't thought to ask his mother if she knew. Ri'yaan's hands Kevin knew well—the long, clever fingers which harbored sharp claws, and the soft, rosy flesh padding his palms and fingertips—and the other Khajiit he had known were much the same. Yet the hands of an _Ohmes_ or an _Ohmes-raht_ would probably not be very different from those of an elf or a Man—

Or had he even been meant to have hands at all?

Kevin loved his mother very much. He loved the life and the home he shared with her, and he wanted to see her happy. Yet that home and that life and their happiness together were all balanced precariously on a lie, and Kevin's role in that lie—that of Sigun's _human_ son—was a part he had been filling with indifferent success all his life, without his ever knowing it. It was a role that had always fit him poorly—and one which, now that he knew the truth, pinched uncomfortably, like the old clothes he had so quickly outgrown. And now that he _did_ know the truth, Kevin wasn't sure that he could stand trying to pass himself off as something and someone he was not...

And yet—having learned of his father's betrayal on the same night he learned who his real father _was_—Kevin knew so little about what embracing the truth would mean.

Though Kevin had always listened intently when Ri'yaan spoke of his faith, it had baffled him how one might pray to the Moons. They had always seemed too silent, too alien and inscrutable to understand or approach. Yet the questions in Kevin's mind demanded one last prayer before it would finally grant him sleep, and it was a prayer that only the Moons could answer...

For whose place was it but the Moons' themselves to teach a Khajiit his proper shape?


	4. Chapter 4

When Kevin woke before dawn the next morning, he realized that he had to make a choice. By the Jarl's decree the Khajiit would soon be forced to depart, and once they were gone it would be more than half a year before they would return—if indeed they ever returned at all. Though Kevin did not know if he was ready to face his father, if he did not speak to Ri'yaan before then it was possible he might never have the chance.

Kevin debated the question abed for as long as he thought he could afford. Though he might have asked his mother's counsel, once he rose he found to his surprise that she was gone. Though it occurred to him after a moment that this was probably not so strange. If there were any affairs which needed tidying before the Khajiit could safely depart, there was no one but his mother likely to attend them. Kevin didn't like the idea of leaving the house without telling her, especially after all the worry and trouble he had already caused, but his time was very limited.

If he wanted to ask his questions—if he wanted his chance to say goodbye—he knew that he had little other choice.

When Kevin returned to the caravan, he saw that much of it had already been dismantled. Both tents had been reduced to the wooden skeleton of their frames, and Ma'shiija was rolling their covers of stitched hide carefully away. Marash and J'draash were carefully wrapping the more delicate wares, and packing them back into their crates for travel. Though they all were busied, Kevin could easily read the change that had written itself in tense shoulders and alert ears, and their anxiously lashing tails.

He knew they saw his approach, though none of them raised alarm. For all the attention they paid him, Kevin might have been a ghost. J'draash's eyes slid over him quickly before returning to his task, as if he were trying _not_ to look, and Ma'shiija seemed never to have noticed him at all, though Kevin knew better. The only acknowledgment he received was from Marash—just a glance and a silent jerk of his chin toward the area of the camp where the horses were tied.

Kevin did not know what to make of their silence.

Ri'yaan was exactly where Marash's brief gesture had indicated he would be—checking the fitness of the horses, and of their tack and harness. Ri'yaan's ears gave a minute twitch as Kevin drew near, swiveling slightly before turning back ahead. But there was an overall stillness which settled over the Khajiit's body that gave the lie to his attempts to feign ignorance of Kevin's being there. Kevin's eyes teared a bit, but he managed not to make a sound. Yet as confounding as the silence was coming from the guards and J'draash, from Ri'yaan it simply hurt, and Kevin found he could not bear it.

"The others..." Kevin managed finally, breaking the silence. "Are they angry at me?"

His voice was steady—a fact of which he was glad. Ri'yaan dropped the straps he was working with turned to look at him. The Khajiit seemed poised for a moment to take a step toward him, but the step hesitated and faltered, and the hand he had half-lifted fell quietly at his side.

"No," Ri'yaan said, his own rough voice turning as soft as Kevin had ever heard it. "No, do not think that. But with what has happened, they fear the risk should they be seen speaking with a human child."

And Kevin supposed that it made sense, but still it stung, and as he stood there his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Do they know that—" Kevin's voice failed, cutting the question short. "Did they know?"

Did they know what Kevin was? Did they know that Kevin was _his_?

Ri'yaan released a breath, shaking his head.

"Marash was never told who you are, but instead guessed for himself," Ri'yaan told him quietly. "J'draash suspected a relationship with your mother, but knew nothing more. Of Ma'shiija, Ri'yaan cannot begin to guess what she might have known of the truth... Yet all were told last night. Skyrim is a dangerous enough place for Khajiit as it is, and they deserved to understand how this one had put their lives at risk, and why."

Ri'yaan fell silent, and he examined Kevin carefully.

"Does your mother know you have come?" Ri'yaan asked him finally.

Kevin hesitated briefly, but he quietly shook his head. The grey-furred Khajiit released a sigh and turned his eyes away.

"You should not be here, then," Ri'yaan said, ears falling flat as he spoke. "Return home. You will make her worry, taking off on her again."

Though the dismissal stung and his throat felt tight, Kevin did not let the hurt drive him away. He plowed ahead instead with the questions he so badly needed to ask.

"The letters..." Kevin asked. "You wrote them didn't you? Was _any_ of it true?"

Ri'yaan seemed almost startled by the question and turned to look at him once again. Finally he took the step forward that he had earlier denied himself, dropping down into a crouch to meet Kevin's eye.

"Some of it was not," Ri'yaan admitted softly. "Ri'yaan was often not in Bravil when he wrote his letters, but closer—usually in Bruma, or Chorrol or the Imperial City. And much of what was written of your father's past and how he spent his time away were also lies... But know that every time your father wrote that he loved you—that every time he wrote that he was _proud_, or that he wished he could be there—that was _always_ true, every word of it."

And Kevin's throat tightened even more when he saw the Khajiit's green eyes were wet with tears. Kevin's soon were as well.

"And the moon sugar?" Kevin asked him hoarsely. "_Why_—"

Kevin's voice cracked and he looked away. Inhaling sharply, he narrowly kept the failed question from turning into a sob. Ri'yaan did not answer right away.

"This one had his reasons," Ri'yaan said, very quietly, "and yet none of them excuse the harm that he has done. But if you wish to know..."

His head and shoulders fell briefly with his sigh, but he forced himself to look Kevin in the eye.

"There was nothing Ri'yaan desired more in this world than to be here for you and for your mother," Ri'yaan began, slowly. "And yet he was forced to miss so much of your life. Forced to watch you grow from afar, pretending you were another's son—to be a _friend_ to you, but never your father. As rare a joy as it was to have you near, rarer still were the times when it felt like you were truly his. The cub Ri'yaan had held the night you were born might as well have been a dream that only he remembered..."

And the Khajiit's rough voice had begun to turn quite hoarse.

"So much time lost..." Ri'yaan said, staring into hands held empty before him. "At times it hurt so much Ri'yaan thought he might die of it. And you likely will not remember that on your fifth birthday Ri'yaan could not be there, but the fifth year is...very important, in Elsweyr. It signals the end of the milk-years, when children start to grow out of their parents' pockets, and begin to belong to themselves. Ri'yaan was so angry with himself that he was not there..."

The Khajiit slowly shook his head.

"Ri'yaan had missed so many important moments in your life," he said, so very quietly. "Your first words, your first steps, the fall of your first milk-teeth...but Ri'yaan knew there was one first to which your mother would never lay claim. For the fifth year is also the start of the sugar-years, when young Khajiit begin to learn the history of their people—and about the Moons, and the _ja-Kha'jay_, and the tides—and the cubs are given _je'm'ath_ for the first time, so they might take the soul of their gods inside of them."

"It was not something we ever spoke of, but Ri'yaan knew your mother would not want it," his father admitted wearily. "Yet he was angry, and his anger made him selfish, and so when he returned he came bearing the first of what would be many secret gifts. And this one told himself it would only be once—that in that one moment he could be a father to you, and you could be Khajiit—and that then he would leave again and try to forget..."

"But Ri'yaan could not forget," his father Ri'yaan said finally, "and if it was selfish to defy your mother once, then to continue was spiteful. This one allowed his jealousy of the time your mother had with you and his own regrets to ruin his sense. And as when he betrayed your mother before, he failed to see beyond himself and what he desired to the consequences it would bring. But now he sees, too late for it to matter, how he has harmed not only you and your mother, but also put his friends in danger that could have destroyed us all."

Once Ri'yaan fell silent, neither one of them moved or spoke for a time. Though the Khajiit still crouched nearby, his head bowed, Kevin was left in solitude with his own thoughts. And he did not know what to think of his father's words, or his reasons—he did not know which parts, if any of it to believe. The question was too heavy for him to decide.

Instead he asked another of his own.

"If I..." Kevin's words trailed off as Ri'yaan's eyes watched him cautiously.

And this time, in spite of his disgust for it, Kevin could not stop himself from touching the Ornament where it hung beneath his clothes.

"How would I look?" Kevin asked his father, shakily. "I mean...do you remember—"

It wasn't just his voice, Kevin realized, he was trembling just a little. Throwing off his earlier hesitance, Ri'yaan's hands found Kevin's shoulders, holding them gently.

"Of course Ri'yaan remembers," his father told him. "He remembers _well_ his first sight of you..."

Letting them fall from his shoulders, Ri'yaan took Kevin's own small hands in his.

"All cubs bear a similar shape at birth," Ri'yaan told him quietly, "but Khajiit parents pay careful heed to the Moons under which their children are born. Masser, the great red Moon, was still growing in the sky, but Secunda, the white Moon, was full in its power—and so you would be _Cathay_, like Marash and Ma'shiija."

Ri'yaan lifted one hand away to touch Kevin's cheek, brushing gently the tracks of tears which had escaped with the soft pad of his thumb.

"Your pelt was grey," he continued, "like Ri'yaan's, but darker, and without stripe. But your eyes were not yet open, and so this one does not know how they may have looked. For most Khajiit, they are gold or green, but Ri'yaan's mother had blue eyes that were almost the color that yours are now, and so they still might be."

Ri'yaan offered him a wounded but gentle smile.

"And you would be as clever and as quick and as handsome a young cub as you are a boy," Ri'yaan said finally, "and by your mother's grace we would have named you Khavi, as this one's father was once named."

Ri'yaan's answers and his reasons did not heal the hurt, not completely, but in that moment Kevin found himself releasing much of the anger which had held him back. He reached out for Ri'yaan, holding him tightly, and soon he was crying.

"I don't want you to go," he said, words half-muffled against Ri'yaan's shoulder. "It's not fair."

Ri'yaan's arms went around him, holding him close.

"It is not," Ri'yaan agreed, "but life does as it pleases in spite of us."

He pushed Kevin back with a sigh, and lifted his chin to look in his eyes.

"But do not worry," Ri'yaan said. "People's ire will cool, and we will come back with the next spring, as we always do."

"I don't want to wait a whole year..." Kevin said. "I barely got to see you. And know that I _know_—"

He stopped, just catching his breath before it could run away into tears once again.

"Let me come with you?"

"Kevin—"

"_Please_?" Kevin begged him. "I _hate_ it here."

It wouldn't have been true, before, but it had become true. For by mid-morning all of Dawnstar would know what had happened. True or not, they would know that Sigun's half-blood son had stolen moon sugar from the Khajiit, and of the harm that had been done by it. Hjalfi's attack the day before would be just the beginning of the grief he would be made to feel for it... And after what he had done—and with both of her parents as well as the rest of the town set against him—Kevin knew better than to hope that his and Fruki's friendship still held true.

Kevin's throat felt tight, and his fingers found their way to the chain hanging around his neck, ready to leave it all behind— It was Ri'yaan's hands on his wrists that stopped him.

"_Tss_," Ri'yaan hissed anxiously. "Selfish boy. You must not abandon your mother now."

Releasing Kevin's hands, Ri'yaan took his shoulders and shook him gently. And looking at him, Kevin saw the Khajiit's ears pressed back flat against his skull with the distress he felt to be turning his son away.

"If you leave her alone," Ri'yaan said softly, "it would break her heart."

Kevin sniffed against his tears.

"Go home. Get your things"

Kevin and Ri'yaan both turned, startled at the sound of his mother's voice. Sigun stood by the tents, watching them both, a cloak pulled around her shoulders against the early morning chill. She watched them closely, and the thoughtful expression on her face said that she clearly had been for some time. Seeing her Ri'yaan stood, quickly, but the Khajiit did not step away.

Kevin, for his part, could only stare at his mother, startled by what she had said. She seemed to see this and stepped toward him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"We're leaving," his mother said to him. "Go. Bring everything you might need, and no more than you can carry, for we have far to go, and we might not have the rest for quite some time."

Ri'yaan's tail gave a quick lash in surprise.

"Sigun..." he asked her cautiously. "What are you thinking?"

Kevin's mother turned to look at Ri'yaan with a sad smile.

"That we should have done this a long time ago," Sigun said. "I've spoken with Frida, and she agrees with me. Dawnstar...has been my home since I was a girl, but it's no place for us now... It hasn't been for some time."

And though it seemed to Kevin that she mourned that fact, as always when she came to a decision she was as steadfast as her name.

"Kevin and I will come with you as far as Whiterun," she said quietly. "If you'll have us. I've saved much of the coin you've sent us from the south. It should be enough to start our new life there. Frida has agreed to sell our home and have the rest of our belongings sent when we are ready."

Ri'yaan watched her for a moment in cautious silence.

"You are certain?" he asked.

Sigun answered him with a nod, though there were tears in her eyes.

"I shouldn't have stayed," she admitted quietly. "I stopped belonging here the day that we married, and after my mother's death there was nothing keeping me except stubbornness. I've been afforded tolerance for the sake of a husband's wealth, and pity for the sake of his absence..."

Sparing a glance back toward the town, she shook her head with a sigh.

"And I've long grown weary of both," she said.

Ri'yaan was silent for a moment, then offered her a solemn nod.

"Very well," he said.

Kevin's mother squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Go," she told him. "I will soon follow."

Kevin looked up at her uncertainly for a moment but finally did as he was told, leaving his mother and Ri'yaan and the caravan all behind him.

The sun was fully up and the town just coming to life as Kevin returned to Dawnstar. It seemed he drew no greater attention as he passed through the street than he did normally, and for that he was thankful. Still, he knew it was only a matter of time, and for just that reason, he was determined to be quick about his task.

Once he was home, Kevin busied himself with packing his things, just as he had two days before.

As he had those two days ago, he gathered his clothes and his bedroll—though he was forced to retrieve much of the former from where it had been hung to dry by the fire yet again. He also packed his winter cloak, and the sturdier boots he also wore in winter, for though Whiterun Hold was warmer than the Pale, he knew—in fact nearly all of Skyrim was—he thought it was better not to take his chances. He packed the daggers that Ri'yaan had given him, and a few of his favored books, as well as the new ones he had not yet read.

At the bottom of his bedside chest there was a ratty old blanket, meant to keep out the damp which, in spite of his mother's noble efforts, managed to invade their home every winter. Hidden in the folds of the blanket was a small wooden box. It held a number of small trinkets that were of little value—a sabrecat's tooth, half of a Dwemer arrowhead, a single coin that was lucky because the image of Talos had been stamped on both sides—as well as a small pouch with seven septims he had saved away. But it also contained what Kevin had long considered his most important possessions...

His father's letters.

Sitting on the floor beside the chest, Kevin opened the box carefully. He was greeted as usual by the soft crackle of shifting parchment, the smell of dust and of the herbs Frida had given him to keep the bugs away. When he had still been very young his mother used to read them to him, but as he got older he had learned to read them himself. He had read every one of them more than once, and could probably recite many of them by heart. In the past, when he read them, Kevin had often tried to imagine his father writing them, far away in some distant place—a Breton with the green eyes his mother had described, but with light brown hair like his own where Sigun's was wheaten gold.

Now, as he sat there leafing through them, Kevin tried to imagine Ri'yaan in that man's place...

He found the task both easier and more difficult than he would have expected. It was almost _too_ simple, in a way. Ri'yaan was whole and tangible, a thing of flesh and blood that Kevin had known for all of his life, whereas Ian Peltienne had always been a phantom of sorts. Even when Kevin had believed him real, he had seemed part of a wishful dream—a long-held fantasy that had never truly been. And it was strange, but letting go of that fantasy hurt far less than Kevin might ever have imagined... No, the hard part in imagining those scenes now lay in picturing Ri'yaan—who had always shown him affection, and whom Kevin had always loved in return—sitting down in Chorrol or Bruma or some other place far away to write down for him the things he had never been allowed to say.

The image placed a tightness in his chest around which he almost could not breathe.

It was then that Kevin remembered the book which held the latest set of letters still folded carefully between its pages. In his anger the night before, Kevin had hardly spared a thought toward putting them in their proper place. He did so now, retrieving the book from his pack, folding them gently, and placing them carefully in the box with the rest. He was stowing the box carefully in his pack when his mother and Frida came in, the book still sitting in his lap. It was the one about Akavir, he saw, which Fruki had wanted to look at...

Though she had gotten drowsy before she ever had the chance.

Remembering his afternoon with Fruki—only yesterday, though it felt like forever—Kevin felt a lump form in his throat. He fastened his pack carefully and tightly before he stood, setting it down on the bed. Then Kevin turned to look at Frida, the book still clutched tightly in his hands.

"Can you..." Kevin looked at the book a moment more before he held it out to her. "Can you give this to Fruki? After I'm gone?"

Kevin's mother made a soft noise, putting an arm around his shoulders to hug him gently, and placing a kiss on the top of his head. Frida offered him a smile.

"Of course," Frida said, taking the book from his hands.

Kevin and his mother and the Khajiit left Dawnstar well before midday came. Still, the Jarl had sent his men to follow until the town was long out of sight, leaving them where the road forked westward past the wind-eaten ruins to the south. The Khajiit had all been tense in their presence, though they betrayed themselves only with the minute tail-twitch here and there. Once the guards finally left them to their travels the relief was almost palpable. J'draash in particular—whose body had fairly _shook_ with nerves—all but melted once the guardsmen were safely away, falling to his knees with a breathless laugh. Marash's laugh which followed was of a more genuine, though coarser, humor.

"A pity the Jarl's bed will go cold for want of furs this winter," Marash jeered, "when he might just have asked Ma'shiija nicely."

Ma'shiija, for her part, said nothing, though from the way Marash bent double as she passed Kevin thought she must have made her retort in the form of a blow his eyes failed to see. She waited only for the other guard to recover his breath before leaving their company to scout the road ahead. Marash wished her safety and a swift return even as he leveled a rude gesture at her departing back. Sigun admonished him sharply for his behavior, though he seemed shamed by it not at all.

As Ma'shiija fell out of sight, Kevin found himself watching the empty road, unaware of his silence until Ri'yaan's hand fell upon his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.

"Is the road to Whiterun long?" Kevin asked, hoping to lighten his father's concern.

"No, not long," Ri'yaan answered, shaking his head. "A two days perhaps, if we press, though three is more likely. There is a fort not too far south near which we might safely camp for the night."

A sharp, shrill whistle caught their attention moments later, which was Ma'shiija's way of signaling that it was safe to move ahead. And as the others began to move, Kevin found himself hesitating, and only his mother's wary glance at the hand he held over his breast had him understanding why.

Kevin brought the Ornament from its shelter beneath his tunic. He tried not to scowl at the leering face which stared back. He knew the others were all watching him—Ri'yaan and his mother most of all—and his heart beat very fast as he gathered up the courage to ask the question weighing upon both his feet and his heart and mind.

"Can I?" Kevin asked, looking up at his mother. And for what he was asking he felt almost guilty. "Just until we get to Whiterun?"

His mother's cheeks, painted pink in the cold winds, paled just slightly as he asked, though after a moment of stunned hesitation she managed to nod.

"You may," she said, and her voice was steady.

Kevin turned his eyes to Ri'yaan.

"Will it hurt?"

"It will," Ri'yaan said slowly, after a moment. "It hurts very much, though it is over quickly."

Hesitating briefly, his father came to crouch before him, looking him in the eye.

"Know that you do not have to, if you are afraid," Ri'yaan said softly, touching a hand to his cheek. "You were born to the form of a Khajiit, but that does not make this human face a lie."

Ri'yaan's hand dropped lower, and formed into a fist that he lay gently against the center of Kevin's chest, over his heart.

"However you look on the outside," Ri'yaan told him, "whatever you choose, in _here_ you will always be your mother's son as well as Ri'yaan's, which is where it matters. Never forget."

And Kevin _was_ afraid, but there were many lessons he had learned in his life, from both of his parents. Among them were these—that a Nord must never allow fear to become his master, nor a Khajiit allow fear to turn his curiosity aside. And though he answered his father's reassurances with a shallow nod, still—_slowly_—Kevin lifted the Ornament from where it hung around his neck.

Kevin could not see the transformation as it was happening, but he could feel every part of it. His flesh rose with goosebumps from the moment the chain of the amulet was lifted from his skin, and a tingle ran down his backbone making him shiver. Within the space of a breath the feeling intensified, and his skin began to itch. Suddenly the tingle turned into something both hot and sharp, and the pain flowed down his spine like molten metal, burning in deep. His eyes squeezed shut as that pain seemed to push its way into the back of his skull, and soon the whole of his face began to ache. For a moment it was difficult to breathe, and when he finally found the air to cry out with the sound he heard was nothing he could recognize. He tasted blood in his mouth, and then—

And then Kevin felt nothing, for he must have fainted.

The next he knew was waking in his father's arms, Ri'yaan carrying him as he and the others traveled. Kevin opened his mouth to speak, but the sound that came out was strangled and strange, like a chirp or a mew. Nonetheless, it stopped everyone in their tracks. Seeing that Kevin was awake, Ri'yaan looked him over carefully before slowly setting him on his feet.

He was unsteady at first, tottering a little on his feet in a way that had his mother drawing closer, eyes full of concern. It was difficult for him to balance his steps, and though it took him a moment it was with a jolt of surprise that he understood why. For when he tried to stand up straight he could feel it brushing the frozen earth of the road behind him. Of course, when he turned around to see it it wasn't there but behind him still...

Though that hardly stopped him from trying again.

It was on his third attempt to catch a glimpse of it that his efforts were interrupted by the sudden, bright sound of his mother's laughter. Kevin looked up at her, startled, and Sigun seemed startled as well. Her hands flew up over her mouth, and her face was turning red, her eyes tearing.

"Sorry, _sorry_," another laugh escaped her, apparently unwanted. "Oh, Kevin, I'm so sorry—"

Kevin could only answer with another odd, meaningless sound, but Marash let out a sharp laugh, patting her shoulder gently.

"You should not be," the Khajiit said. "If we cannot laugh at a cub chasing his own tail then there is nothing worth laughing at in this world."

Kevin's shoulders slumped a little. While he could not seem to speak, he still made his feelings known by sticking out his tongue—though that itself felt strange against the new sharpness of his teeth. Ri'yaan let out a chuckle, crouching beside him, and helped Kevin catch hold of his tail in his hands.

Kevin felt a little breathless first seeing it. Like the other Khajiit, his tail was light on the end, but unlike J'draash, Marash or his father, whose tails were darkly ringed, the markings of his own tail were barely visible, hardly showing amid the dark grey of his fur. This was more similar to Ma'shiija's, whose fur was also a solid color—tawny, like a sabrecat's. Very carefully, Kevin ran his fingers over it, trying to accustom himself to the odd sensation—the tickle as his touch disturbed the fur on a limb that was strange to him and yet at the same time his own. And even his hands were quite different. The soft flesh on the pads of his fingers was more sensitive than he would have imagined, and even without trying a gentle flex of his hand revealed the barest tips of his claws.

Kevin stared at them for a moment, amazed, and smiled.

Though slowly, as his amazement ebbed, he became aware of the others watching him. Ma'shiija was not there, for she was likely still engaged in scouting the road. Marash still wore an expression of great amusement, yet J'draash all but stared, as if still struggled to believe his own eyes. And Ri'yaan was smiling, more warmly and openly than Kevin thought he could remember seeing in his life.

Yet Kevin's mother watched him with a strange, almost solemn nervousness, her hands clasped together over her stomach in a vulnerable posture that Kevin had never seen.

Then Kevin remembered the words she had spoken to him over supper the night before, and the worry she had confessed to Frida even earlier, before any of the more alarming truths had come to light. He remembered her fears—that he would choose his father one day, that he would _leave_ her—and understood quite suddenly that _this_ was why she had held them. This was why his mother had so dreaded telling him the truth...

For she had thought that his learning that truth would mean losing him.

Kevin was closing the distance between them before he even thought about it, throwing his arms tightly around his mother's waist. She was greatly surprised by the move, but her arms wound around him as well, and though Kevin could not speak to reassure her as he so badly wanted to he did his best. And when he finally pulled away he made sure to look up at her with a smile he could only hope said what he needed it to say. Sigun returned it almost cautiously, slowly lifting her hand to touch his face. And if the sensitivity of his fingers and the feel of his fur had felt strange, neither held air beside the tickle of his whiskers against her palm. Smiling more strongly, Sigun bent down to kiss his forehead, and Kevin gave in to an impulse he didn't quite understand, nosing gently against her cheek.

"Is he well, Ri'yaan?" J'draash asked then, nervously. "Why does he not speak?"

Kevin and his mother both turned to see the displeasure that had written itself upon his father's face.

"It is because Clavicus Vile is a cruel and tricksome patron," Ri'yaan answered, looking upon Kevin with a sigh. "This one never suffered such difficulties with the Ornament, but it is easy to see why."

Sigun frowned, her hand falling to Kevin's shoulder protectively.

"Explain," she said.

"Ri'yaan's human guise was just that," his father said. "It was a deception meant to fool any to look upon it. And though a Man's tongue and teeth are quite different, Ri'yaan could speak—and was even voiced like a Man—for it would have been a poor disguise indeed were it otherwise."

And Ri'yaan hesitated briefly, managing only a silent gesture at Kevin at first before he spoke.

"Yet _this_ shape is Kevin's for truth..." Ri'yaan said. "And by the Ornament's reckoning, his human face the disguise. What was true for Ri'yaan is therefore not true for him—he has known all his life only how to form his words as a Man does, and the reverse is nothing that Vile's charm would likely care nor seek to counter."

Kevin's heart felt heavy as he understood what his father was saying. But Marash let out a snort.

"Do not fret, cub," Marash said. "You simply need the chance to learn."

"And we will celebrate your sacrifice, Marash," Ma'shiija said, breaking free from the cover of trees that lined the road. "For surely if the cub is to find his voice, your own must fall silent to offer that chance."

Ri'yaan let out a brief laugh—as did J'draash, though his sounded more like a cough. But between the two of them the guards had successfully defused the tension haunting their conversation—whether that had been their actual intent or not.

"The giants have moved on from the camp we passed coming in," Ma'shiija said then. "Most likely this morning. So far only skeevers have shown to scavenge their leavings, but we should see ourselves farther south before it draws larger beasts."

Ri'yaan made a noise of agreement, followed by a gesture to the others to move out. Ma'shiija resumed her place on point, followed by Ri'yaan and J'draash who guided the horses carefully. Kevin traveled close to his mother—half-clinging to her at times as he slowly grew accustomed to his altered balance. Marash took up the rear close behind them, chatting idly with Kevin and his mother as they traveled to keep them at ease.

Though it would have been more accurate to say that his mother and Marash chatted. Kevin tried, though he had only moderate success in forming any intelligible words at all, and even that only through Marash's stubborn encouragement. Still, by the time the caravan stopped for their meal at midday, Kevin was far closer to making himself understood than he had been in the beginning. And by late afternoon, when they reached Fort Dunstad, Kevin found he could manage most simple words if he took the time to think them over, and to pronounce them very slowly.

The soldiers occupying the fort were wary of the Khajiit as the caravan approached, though nowhere near as hostile as their usual welcome in Dawnstar. While many of the Legionnaires stationed there were both Nord by blood and Skyrim born, many others hailed from other parts of the Empire. Though still rare, traders from Elsweyr were a more common sight in High Rock than they were in Skyrim. And in spite of strife stirred up by the war, there were still many Khajiit—like J'draash, who had been born in the Imperial City itself—whose families had called Cyrodiil their home for generations.

J'draash and Ma'shiija stayed with the caravan and with Kevin and his mother while his father and Marash spoke with the garrison's captain. According to Ri'yaan this was a different man than the one who had commanded the fort when the caravan had passed this way in spring, and in spite of their civil reception he would likely still require reassurance that the Khajiit were not intending any mischief.

Kevin watched the meeting anxiously—and listened.

During their journey, Ri'yaan had seen fit to clarify many things he had come to understand about the Ornament's power. Vile's artifact changed only what was needed in order to disguise the wearer's true nature—no more, and no less—and for the most part, these changes appeared only on the surface. Likely if a Nord were to use it to appear as a Breton—or even as an elf—though outwardly changed, in themselves they would likely feel little difference at all. Yet a Khajiit was measurably different from either a Man or an elf, and the needed changes were greater. Ri'yaan was born a Khajiit, and even as Ian Peltienne—lacking his tail and his claws and his large, mobile ears—in every other way, he had been a Khajiit still. Yet without his claws he could not fight as he once might have, and without his tail to help him balance his inborn nimbleness had suffered. And without the eyes of a Khajiit or the ears of a Khajiit, the change had left him night blind and half deaf by their reckoning.

Kevin had noticed early on in their travels on how much sharper both his sense of smell and his hearing had become. Both of those senses had always been very strong—a talent that Ma'shiija had long appreciated and sought to hone, even when she had thought he was human—yet now it seemed their sharpness was even greater. His hearing, in particular, seemed to have heightened, especially if he pointed his ears just..._so_ toward whatever it was he was listening to.

"...may search our wares if you must," Ri'yaan was saying to the captain, "but if you will ask some of your men, I know at least a few of them must remember—"

The captain—a tall, dark-haired Imperial—lifted a hand, interrupting him.

"I see no need," he said, though he cast a brief glance toward the caravan with a frown. "Though I would like the chance to speak with your...friend, just to put my own mind at ease."

Kevin realized the man was speaking about his mother. And he didn't understand what concerns the captain had that might require easing, but somehow the implication still inspired a vague, sick feeling in his gut. Ri'yaan might have seemed entirely unfazed by the words, with only a brief and easily missed twitch of the tail betraying the affront he had taken.

"Of course," Ri'yaan agreed, bowing his head respectfully.

He then returned with Marash to the caravan.

"The captain wishes to have a word with you before he will deal with us further," Ri'yaan told Sigun quietly.

"He wishes to make sure you are not our captive," Marash said, followed by a disgusted hiss. "Nor our merchandise. He all but names us _jekosiit_ to our faces, and in the same breath paints us fools enough to go about it openly enough to be caught. Marash does not know which should insult him more."

Ma'shiija bared her teeth slightly at Marash's words—it was _not_ a smile.

Among the stories Ri'yaan had told him relating the history of his people were tales of ages long past when Khajiit still feared capture by Dunmer to be sold in Morrowind for labor. Yet even more vile than the practice of slavery itself had been the existence of Khajiit who had chosen to take advantage, some even selling their own clan mates for profit. In Elsweyr there were fewer things a person could be that were lower and more reprehensible than a _jekosiit_—a slaver—and even though slavery had been outlawed for nearly two-hundred years it was still one of the most grievous charges one Khajiit could make toward another.

"He may simply have questions he does not wish to ask us directly," J'draash reasoned nervously, "or which he doubts we will honestly answer."

"Either way," Ri'yaan said, making a faint noise. Then he turned to Sigun. "You do not have to speak with him if you do not wish to."

But Sigun shook her head.

"No," she said, though somewhat wearily. "I'll talk to him."

And giving Kevin's shoulder a light squeeze, she left to do just that.

Kevin watched as his mother approached the fort and followed the captain inside, out of sight. All of them waited anxiously, though Kevin was unaware of the mounting tension until it was over. When she returned several minutes later, their relief—and Ri'yaan's especially—was palpable.

"He is a fool, but a well-intentioned one," Sigun said, seeming lightly amused.

Ri'yaan frowned, taking no comfort in her amusement.

"What did he say?" Ri'yaan asked.

"Captain Minarus has agreed to let us camp within the courtyard," Sigun said, "provided that we don't enter the fort itself. And he won't search your wares, but he warned that any attempts to sell proscribed items to his soldiers would be punished harshly."

Sigun smiled and Ri'yaan waited.

"Is that all?" he asked her, frowning warily.

Sigun bit her lip.

"He asked why I was with you and where I was going," she said slowly. "He...was interested in me."

"Ah...of course," Ri'yaan said, just as slowly.

"But," Sigun said, "he was also a gentleman once I told him I had a husband waiting for me."

Ri'yaan looked away, ears tight against his skull.

"Sigun..." he said. "Ri'yaan has told you that if there was another you desired that he would not—"

Whatever it was he had told her, Sigun stopped the words with a finger on his lips.

"And I have said many times that I am grateful of the offer," Sigun told him, "but it has never been necessary."

Which she followed by planting a kiss on his nose.

Ri'yaan's ears flicked in faint surprise—an emotion, it seemed, that was shared equally by his caravan mates, and by Kevin himself. For as long as he had known Ri'yaan, his mother had never shown the Khajiit that sort of affection—at least not where he or anyone else could see. Though of course, with their secrets laid bare to both himself and Ri'yaan's companions, Kevin realized that in present company his parents had little else left to hide. And unlike many of the revelations and changes that had so recently rocked his life, this one left Kevin feeling quite warm inside.

Of course the momentary silence that had accompanied the gesture was soon interrupted by a cough—from J'draash, surprisingly.

"Well if everything is settled, then," the young Khajiit suggested anxiously, "maybe we can get inside and have our tents put out _before_ it starts to get dark?"

Ri'yaan let out a soft, annoyed hiss at J'draash, who shrank away. Marash let out a roaring laugh and slapped the younger Khajiit on the back. Ri'yaan gave the order to move out—rather sullenly—and together they made their way into Fort Dunstad.

The soldiers ushered them in carefully, directing them to an open space where they were being allowed to make their camp. Kevin's mother helped J'draash to secure the horses while Ma'shiija built the fire. Kevin chose to help Marash and his father in setting up the tents.

With the new-sharpened sensitivity of his ears and nose, it was perhaps unsurprising when Kevin grew aware of the fact that he was being spied upon. Turning around, Kevin saw that one of the soldiers overseeing their preparations was watching him with a very odd expression. Kevin felt the fur on his spine lift nervously, and he soon found himself retreating as closely to Ri'yaan as he could manage without stepping on his feet. His father looked up and followed Kevin's eyes to those of the watching soldier.

He was a narrow-framed and dark-haired Breton, clad in a shirt of leathern armor over the red tunic of the Legion—in archer, judging by the quiver of arrows at his back. He was also quite young, Kevin thought—perhaps no older than eighteen, though it was hard to know, for due to their distant elven heritage Bretons were supposed to live longer lives than most Men. But his skin was almost as light as a Nord's, and Kevin could easily see his blush—for more than anything else the man seemed embarrassed at being caught.

"I didn't mean to stare," the man told Ri'yaan apologetically. "I've just never seen a child of your race before... Is the cub yours?"

Ri'yaan opened his mouth to answer yet he hesitated strangely, finally giving a nod. The soldier smiled, his eyes lit with curiosity.

"Is the child male or female?" he asked.

Kevin felt his ears flattening in irritation, but his reaction was stilled when Ri'yaan's hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

"This is Ri'yaan's son," his father said. "His name is Khavi."

And in spite of the young soldier's obliviously ignorant question there was such warmth in Ri'yaan 's voice as his father introduced him that Kevin couldn't find the energy to feel sullen about it. He found it in himself to offer an awkward nod.

"Hllo," Kevin attempted carefully in greeting.

And when Ri'yaan's arm brought him close against his side, Kevin managed to smile.

When night fell, Sigun was invited to dine in the mess with the soldiers. Their camp had been completed by then, however, and so she elected to stay. Some of the herbs Ri'yaan had brought north for Frida had dried out and lost their virtue by the time they arrived in Dawnstar, but were still good for cooking, and these he traded to the kitchen master in return for a pair of well-hung pheasants and a fresh loaf of bread. And the Khajiit and his mother also opened a bottle of good wine—which Ri'yaan had brought as a gift to the Jarl in the now futile hope of securing Skald's continued good graces—to share.

The night was cool and breezy, but the strong walls of the fort were more than enough to blunt its bite and keep their fire sheltered and strong. Both the stress of their departure and their travels—to which Kevin and his mother were both unaccustomed—had left them all tired, and they chose to retire early that night. J'draash and the two guards shared one tent just as they had outside of Dawnstar, while Kevin and his parents took the other. When Kevin bedded down it was nestled warmly between both of his parents, and for the first time he could remember he slept wearing the skin to which he had been born.

And though when the next morning came they would set out over dangerous roads, headed for a new start, when he drifted off that night Kevin felt safer than he ever had in his life.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I normally consider disclaiming fanfiction posted as fanfiction redundant and unnecessary (if it were all mine, I wouldn't call it _fanfiction_). But that is because usually those distinctions are obvious, and in this story there are a few instances here where more clarification might be appropriate.

This fic paraphrases some in-game literature, and I feel it's fair to give credit for them specifically. The story about the Moons is based on _The Words of Clan Mother Ahnissi_, and the story about the sabrecats is based on _The Legend of Dro'Zira_. The Khajiit martial art Two-Moons-Dance is mentioned in the book _Master Zoaraym's Tale_.

Except for Kevin and his mother, all of Dawnstar's residents are actual (or implied) characters or NPCs. Jarl Skald is mentioned as having an unnamed son in some of Thoring and Frida's dialog, who I have given the name "Hjalfi". All of the Khajiit are OCs except for Marash (aka, Dro'marash, who at the time of this story is not yet old enough to have earned an affix that means "grandfather"). Captain Minarus and the Breton archer are also OCs.


End file.
